In the distance, he caught a strange blue glimmer.
Steadily, the shark came on.
The glimmer was getting bigger. Brighter. It was racing toward him. His eyes darted from it to the shark and back again.
Around him the Sea began to glow strangely, as if it had turned to cold blue fire. The unknown thing was arrowing toward him down the Moon’s path, and as it drew nearer, he saw the gleaming curve of a great back—and then another and another, all swimming toward him, arching and diving in unison.
One of the creatures leaped clear of the water, and it was a giant fish made of pure blue light. Twisting around to look at him, it dived into the Sea with a luminous splash.
The shark was going to reach him first. Gripping the plank with his free hand, he brandished the knife. He stabbed at it. The blade glanced off its flank. The shark sank—then surfaced and turned to attack again.
At that moment the Sea exploded. An enormous fish burst from the waves in a rain of blue fire—but it wasn’t a fish, it was a dolphin; Hylas saw its great shining body and mysterious smile as it plunged into the burning Sea, then leaped again, arching right over his head, so close that he saw its pale smooth belly and a raking of fine white scars on its nose.
For an instant the dolphin’s eye met his and its spirit called to him—then it disappeared into the bright water. It surfaced at once, and with startling deftness snagged the lock of the Keftian’s hair on its flipper. With a flick, it tossed it to another dolphin following behind. The second one caught the hair in its jaws and dived with it into the deep, while the first—the big one with the scars—powered into the shark and butted it with punishing force. The shark twisted around to bite, but the dolphin was agile. The shark snapped empty air.
Now more dolphins were joining the attack, surrounding the shark and butting it from all sides. Hylas gave a shout of triumph. The shark broke through and fled, and the dolphins raced after it, their radiant trails flickering and fading into the night.
But many more had stayed with him, and the Sea was churning with dolphins: leaping, slamming the burning blue waves with their tails; and now he heard them calling to each other in high, otherworldly squeals. He heard the soft pfft of their breath and saw the holes on top of their heads blink open and spurt glittering spray; he caught the gleam of their wise dark eyes.
He forgot his terror and despair. In awe he watched them arrow beneath him, trailing streams of luminous bubbles, then burst out to drench him in cold blue fire.
And they will come to fetch my spirit, the Keftian had told him. You will see them leaping over the waves—so strong, so beautiful.…
The shark was gone.
The Fin People had come.
14
As night wore on, the fire faded from the Sea and the dolphins turned from shimmering blue to sleek silver; but still they wove a shining ring around Hylas. Their eyes threw back the moonlight like the eyes of wolves, and they swam so close he could have touched them if he’d dared.
They were creatures from another world. Often they moved in unison, twisting and turning as one; and though they were mostly silent, at times they pierced the night with alien shrieks. They seemed to breathe through a hole in the top of their heads, arching out of the water just long enough to exhale with a soft pfft, then diving under again. And although they passed within reach, they ignored him, intent on some mysterious purpose of their own.
They had saved him from the shark. But why? They belonged to the Lady of the Wild Things—and She, like all immortals, could create as well as destroy. What did She want with him?
Suddenly the ring widened and they began to play. The scar-nosed one was back—did that mean the shark was dead? Hylas saw that it often swam with a smaller, dark-gray dolphin with battered flanks and a notch bitten out of one tailfluke. She looked older; Hylas guessed she was the mother. A baby dolphin swam very close to her. Its nose was stubbier than those of the grown-ups, and it hadn’t learned to breathe properly; it spluttered through its blowhole. When its mother broke the surface it had to jump right out to keep up, beating the air with its tail.
The scar-nosed dolphin—its big brother?—raced past and scooped a scrap of seaweed onto his snout, then tossed it to the mother. She caught it on her flipper and flicked it back to him, right over her baby’s head. They kept this up for a bit, then the scar-nosed one let the baby catch it. Now Hylas was certain: definitely the big brother. When Issi was little, he’d sometimes let her win—until she’d guessed, and gotten annoyed.
The dolphins’ play grew wilder, and his unease returned. There was a fierceness to their piercing shrieks and unchanging smiles. Summoning his courage, he tried to break through by paddling the plank forward. The response was terrifying. The dolphins closed in and started slamming the waves with their tails—bang bang bang—so loud it was like a hammer beating on his heart. Why were they angry? What did they want?
After an endless time the tail-slamming ceased, but still they hemmed him in, and now they were clashing their jaws and diving so close that he had to draw in his legs. They’d saved him from the shark, but they wouldn’t let him go.
Watching them was making him dizzy. He lay on the plank with his legs curled up. The dolphins never slowed down, never stopped moving…
He woke to the gray gloom before dawn. The dolphins were gone.
He missed them. They’d frightened him, but without them he felt horribly alone.
The land appeared slightly closer—he made out cliffs and a white rim of surf—but it was still hopelessly out of reach. He would never have the strength to paddle that far.
Suddenly a pale-green form arrowed beneath him, burst into the air, and smacked down on its belly with an enormous splash. The dolphin poked its scarred nose out of the water and looked at him.
Never in his life had Hylas been so glad to see a living creature. He croaked a greeting.
The dolphin uttered a shrill whistle and sank out of sight.
“Come back! Please! Don’t go!”
The dolphin bobbed up on the other side of the plank, then went under again, surfacing a surprising distance away and swimming up and down. It was dark gray on top, shading to grayish white on its belly; the scars on its nose were three pale straight lines that looked as if they’d been raked by teeth. Why had it come back? Where were the others?
Suddenly the dolphin put down its head and rushed the plank, giving it a tremendous shove with its nose that sent Hylas headfirst into its blue-green world.
Down he tumbled, and the water was alive with eerie whistles and rapid high clicks. The dolphin came looming out of the blue, trailing silver bubbles from its blowhole. It swam astonishingly fast, even though it was scarcely moving its tail up and down, and as it raced toward him it clicked faster and louder. In panic, Hylas kicked for the surface, but the dolphin wouldn’t let him escape; it was circling him with incredibly agility, clicking so fast that the sounds blurred to a shrill buzzing whine that made him tingle all over. He lashed out with his foot and struck a solid dolphin flank. The dolphin vanished. Hylas broke the surface with a gasp.
An arm’s length away, the dolphin nodded at him and made a squawking noise that sounded a lot like laughter.
Badly shaken, Hylas swam for the plank and scrambled back on. “Why’d you do that?” he shouted. “I didn’t do anything!”
Again the dolphin laughed.
“I didn’t do anything!”
The dolphin whistled. Weirdly, the sound didn’t come from its mouth, but from its blowhole. How could you make sense of a creature that didn’t even talk through its mouth?
The dolphin went under and came at him again.
Hylas bashed it on the nose with the flat of his knife.
The dolphin twisted around and thwacked him with its tail, sending him flying once more.
He came up spluttering.
The dolphin nodded and clacked its jaws.
Angry and frightened, Hylas swam back to the plank. “It isn’t funny!”
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br /> The dolphin went on smiling its infuriating, unchanging smile.
It had smiled at the shark too. All the dolphins had. In fact, they never stopped smiling.
It occurred to Hylas that maybe it wasn’t smiling at all. Maybe it couldn’t help it; that was just the way its mouth was made.
And that laughter… Maybe it wasn’t laughter. Maybe the dolphin was angry.
To see if he was right, he imitated it. Smacking the water with the flat of his hand, he squealed and clacked his jaws.
The dolphin swam past, looking startled, then thwacked the Sea with its tail.
For the first time, Hylas looked, really looked, at it. Its eyes were dark brown and clever; and although he couldn’t be certain, he thought it seemed puzzled.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
The dolphin went on swimming up and down.
“Sorry I hit you. But you scared me. What do you want?”
The dolphin swam closer. Hylas had an impulse to reach out and touch its nose, but he didn’t dare. Its mouth was open; he saw a blunt pink tongue with oddly crinkled edges, and conical white teeth that looked sharp enough to snap off his hand.
“What do you want?” he said again.
The dolphin sank beneath the waves and disappeared.
15
Everything was going wrong. The pod was off hunting, but the dolphin hadn’t gone with them because he needed to help the boy—only the boy wouldn’t let himself be helped. Why?
The dolphin could see him on the Edge, drifting on his little scrap of tree, and holding that horrible stick in his flipper. The dolphin was scared of the stick; he could hear that it was sharper than coral. But he felt sorry for the boy.
Like all humans, he wasn’t made for the Sea. His body was as flat as a flounder, and he had seaweed growing out of his head. Instead of a tail he had legs like a crab, but only two, and unlike a crab they were soft, and easily bitten off. His front flippers were even worse, as they were split into wiggly bits at the ends, which made them hopeless for swimming, although very tasty to sharks.
The thought of the shark made the dolphin prickle with alarm. He and his pod had chased it into the Black Beneath, where they’d butted it so thoroughly that it wouldn’t be back; but there were more sharks in the Sea, and the boy was easy prey.
The trouble was, the dolphin couldn’t get him to understand that he meant no harm. He’d tried, but the boy just got angry and biffed him on the nose—which made the dolphin angry too, so then they were both slamming the waves and calling bad things.
In frustration, the dolphin left the Edge and swam down through the Blue Deep, searching the tangled water for sharks. Nothing. Good.
When he returned to the Edge, the boy wasn’t moving.
At first the dolphin thought he was dead. Then he saw his leg twitch, and realized that he was doing that weird thing that humans did, when they simply stopped. It was alarming, but the dolphin had learned that it was their way of sleeping.
The dolphin surfaced, and the boy woke with a jerk, crying out in his odd, blunt human speech. The dolphin felt the boy’s terror crackling through the water. He heard the frightened fluttering of his poor little puny human heart.
Everything was going wrong. The dolphin didn’t know how to make the boy not be scared of him; and he feared what might happen with that stick.
Hylas missed the dolphin. Why had it disappeared again? What was he doing wrong?
He was weak with hunger and thirst, and so tired it was an effort to stay on the plank, let alone paddle. His lips were cracked, his flesh spongy and pale from being in the water so long. The scab had come off the wound on his arm, which was throbbing and sore. He was finding it increasingly hard to stay awake.
Issi’s voice came and went in his head. “Come on, Hylas, hurry up and find me. I’m hungry!”
Telamon was here too, clicking his tongue with impatience. “Surely you’re not giving up? And after all the trouble I had to steal that chariot!”
A wave slapped him awake.
Only it wasn’t a wave; it was a scrap of seaweed.
The dolphin was back.
Hylas was glad and scared at the same time. His heart began to pound as he gripped the plank in one hand, the dagger in the other. Was it going to rush him again?
This time it wasn’t laughing or clacking its jaws. It swam quietly, arching above the surface just long enough to breathe before dipping under again. Maybe it wasn’t angry anymore?
Tentatively, Hylas took the seaweed and trailed it in the water.
The dolphin swam past—not glancing at him, but clearly aware of what he was doing. The second time it passed, Hylas saw it eyeing the knife in his fist. He swapped hands, laying the knife on the plank and trailing the seaweed temptingly with his free hand. He was tense. The dolphin was tense.
Hylas cast the seaweed over the waves and waited.
The dolphin swam past and took the seaweed lightly on the leading edge of its flipper, tossed it in the air, caught it deftly on its nose, swam on its side for a bit, then passed Hylas again, still with the seaweed.
Hylas reached for it. He missed.
For a while the dolphin played toss and catch by itself. Then it forgot the seaweed and dived. Anxiously, Hylas peered after it. Would it be back?
Suddenly he saw it far beneath him, rising with astonishing speed. He floundered to get out of the way. The dolphin surfaced right next to him, flexed its tail, and flicked something out of the Sea, right over his head.
Whatever it was fell with a splash. The dolphin swam after it and did it again. A fish. It was flipping a fish out of the water. Was it—was it trying to help him?
For a third time it tossed the fish high, and this time Hylas managed to catch it. With a triumphant cry, he killed it by bashing it on the plank, then sank his teeth in its belly. Blood squirted deliciously over his parched tongue. Spitting out scales, he gobbled the sweet, slithery guts.
After gouging out and eating the eyes, he cut off the head and threw it into the Sea for an offering; then on impulse he whistled and lightly patted the waves with his palm.
The dolphin appeared. Hylas did it again. “Here,” he croaked, “this is for you.” He tossed over the tail, and the dolphin caught it neatly and swallowed it whole.
“Thank you,” said Hylas.
The dolphin swam past him; then back again, a little closer.
Hylas put out his hand.
The dolphin brushed lightly against his fingers. Its skin was cool and incredibly smooth, the smoothest thing he’d ever felt. Again it swam past, rubbing its flank gently against his palm, and this time it met his gaze. Its eye was brown and wise and friendly, and it seemed to see inside him and sense all that he’d been through: his fear of the Crows, his grief for Scram, his shame at not having been able to protect Issi; his loneliness. And yet he could tell that it didn’t belong to his world. Its gaze was as deep as the Sea, and though it was a living creature of flesh and fin and bone, it was also a spirit of the Sea, who belonged to the Lady of the Wild Things.
“Thank you, Spirit,” Hylas said quietly.
Spirit swam around him, then put his nose to the plank and gave it a gentle shove.
At last Hylas understood. The dolphin hadn’t been trying to throw him off the plank. He’d been trying to push him toward land.
After that, things were much better. Hylas knew not to be frightened, and Spirit knew not to push too hard. He even seemed to know when Hylas needed a rest, and would circle, softly blowing, until Hylas was ready to go on.
But at last Hylas was too exhausted even to stay on the plank. He felt himself sliding off into the Sea, and knew he didn’t have the strength to climb back on. Spirit seemed to know it too, because he swam underneath Hylas, as if offering to carry him on his back. Without even thinking about it, Hylas took hold of the dolphin’s fin with both hands—taking care to ensure that the dagger didn’t touch the soft gray hide—and Spirit began to pull him smoothly toward land.
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It came closer with startling speed. Through a blur of exhaustion, Hylas made out a high ridge shaped like a boar’s back, and dark red cliffs streaked with bird droppings. He thought he heard the gutteral cries of cormorants, and something else, just beyond the edge of understanding: a faint, uncanny, gurgling singing.
A breeze shivered the Sea, smoothing the waves in great dark patches, like the footprints of some vast unseen being. Spirit swam past a headland, and Hylas glimpsed the shadowy mouth of a cave. From within he caught snatches of that weird, echoing song. What was this place?
The words of the dying Keftian drifted back to him. The Fin People will take you to their island… the fish that fly and the caves that sing… The hills that walk and the trees of bronze…
Then all that was forgotten as Spirit carried him into a wide, calm bay where wavelets lapped a beach of white pebbles and the water was a bright, sunlit blue.
His foot struck sand. Sand. With a moan of relief, he let go of Spirit and sank into a patch of slippery purple seaweed. Crawling clear of the waves, he collapsed on the shore.
The last thing he heard before he passed out was the pfft of Spirit softly blowing as he swam up and down in the shallows.
16
Pirra had never seen a bird swim, actually swim, underwater. It was black with green eyes. Was it a magic bird because it lived on this island, or did lots of birds swim underwater, and nobody had told her?
Enviously, she watched it surface with a fish in its beak and gulp it down. Her belly growled. It was a day and a night since the fisherman had abandoned her here with only a waterskin and a couple of dried mullet. Since then she’d eaten nothing but a handful of dusty sage.
On Keftiu she’d never had to think about food. When she was hungry, she simply clapped her hands and a slave would bring whatever she wanted: delicious little fried cheese balls rolled in sesame seeds; roast octopus stuffed with sorrel; fig cakes smothered in crushed walnuts and honey.