It’s a long way to our cottage, down the footpath to the road, through Senara Churchtown, and onto the track that leads to our cottage. But there’ll be enough light from the stars and the moon. I can do it.
I lean out of the window as far as I dare, calculating which is the safest place to land on the bank. The moonlight is much stronger now. Even though this window is at the back of the cottage, facing into the side of the hill, I can see quite clearly. Light is filtering into the bedroom too. It makes everything look blue and ghostly, but there is certainly enough light for me to find the path down the hill.
Just then I hear another sound. I thought Granny Carne’s cottage was too far from the sea for the noise of the waves to carry up here. It must be the way the wind is blowing tonight. But no, the air is still. There isn’t a breath of wind, but I can hear the sound of the waves. They’re breaking in our cove, rolling up on the clean pale sand that’s exposed at low tide and hidden when the tide is high. They’re breaking in the moonlight, in long curls of foam.
Listen. Listen. What was that?
“Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…”
It’s a wave. It’s the shushing noise of a wave as it breaks on the sand.
“Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…”
I stand by the window, frozen. This has happened before. That time when we were still living in our cottage and I heard a voice in the night, and then Sadie started barking across the fields and the owl flew past the window, and the voice disappeared.
“Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…
“Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…”
Sadie doesn’t bark. Nothing stirs but the voice. It makes the skin prickle on the back of my neck. It is not the same voice as the one I heard last time.
This voice is Dad’s. I know it. I couldn’t be mistaken. Dad is calling me. How can this be happening?
One half of my mind wants Sadie to bark and Granny Carne to wake. Last summer, when I heard a voice at night, I’m sure Granny Carne woke. The owl that flew by my window had her eyes. If Sadie barks now, Dad’s voice will fade away and it’ll be dark again. I’ll go to sleep. In the morning it will all seem like a dream.
But the other part of my mind tingles with longing. This is not a dream. I’m wide-awake, although it feels as if the whole world is sleeping except for me. Sadie has gone far away into the winter sleep that Granny Carne said would heal her. Wherever she is, I don’t think she’ll hear me or know what’s happening to me.
I look up at the sky. Last time Granny Carne watched over me and guarded me in the form of an owl. But not tonight. Maybe even Granny Carne’s power is dormant. Conor and Mum are far away in St. Pirans. But I’m not afraid. I don’t want any guardians tonight. Nothing and no one is going to stop me from going to Dad.
“Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…
“SSSSsssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…”
How strange that I was thinking of going down to our cottage to find the Dad of the past. I don’t have to find Dad at all. He has found me.
CHAPTER FIVE
“I’m coming,” I answer softly. “Wait for me.”
“Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…
“SSSSsssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…”
The voice isn’t far away. Not as far as the sea. Dad’s near. He’s waiting for me, out there in the night. I pull on my clothes, push my feet into my trainers, and go back to the window.
The window is low, and it’s easy to clamber onto the sill. The earth bank doesn’t look quite so close now. I’ll have to spring right out, or I’ll fall back against the cottage wall. One…two…three.
I jump out like a cat. The earth rushes up to meet me, and I land sprawling, but I grab hold of a tuft of heather and stop myself from slithering down the bank. Very carefully I scramble along the bank, around the side of the cottage.
I come out onto the rough, tussocky grass in front of the cottage. The moonlight is so bright here that I have a sharp moon shadow. I glance up at the windows. No one there.
Dad’s voice comes again, stronger now.
“Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…”
If I follow his voice, I’ll find him. I set off on the steep path that climbs down the side of the hill, following the voice. Sometimes it is very quiet; sometimes it’s louder. It says nothing but my name. We’ve left the path now, and the voice is making its own path for me. On and on over the rough ground. My feet seem to know which way is best. I don’t trip or stumble. We’re above the churchtown, and far in the distance I can see the square tower of the church in the moonlight. It’s so bright. Why doesn’t everybody wake up? The voice keeps pulling me. I go faster, until I’m almost running through bracken and heather, past furze bushes and looming granite boulders.
At last the voice leads me to the edge of a field. We’re not so far from the sea here. It shines in the distance, as bright as if the moon has polished it. The voice leads me to a stile in the granite hedge. There’s a bunch of cattle huddled by the stile. What are cattle doing out in the fields on a November night? They snort as I go by, but they’re not scared of me. They put their heads up and follow me with their eyes. Their warm, safe smell wraps round me for a minute like a blanket, and then I hurry on to the next stile, across the next field and over the field gate. And now I can smell water. It’s not the sea with its sharp salt tang. It’s freshwater.
I know where I’m going now. I’m crossing to the Lady Stream that runs off the Downs, under the road, through the village, and on between the fields until it plunges into a deep cleft down to the sea. The Lady Stream is quick and strong. There are waterfalls as it rushes down the steep hills and wide brown pools where trout swim.
The sound of the stream tumbling over rocks is loud now. It’s full of autumn rain. My heart beats hard, as if the current of my blood is rushing just as fast as the water. I’m almost in sight of the stream.
Here it is. I’ve come out by one of the deepest pools, where the water gathers itself before plunging on to the sea. Moonlight flickers on the surface of the stream and shines on the granite boulders beside the pool.
And then I see it. In the center of the pool there’s a round bulk that shouldn’t be there, wet and glistening. A boulder on the surface of the water. A floating boulder. No, that’s crazy. Granite boulders can’t float. As I watch, the stone moves. Moonlight stirs, breaks, ripples. The stone is moving, rising, coming out into the air—
“Sapphire,” says the stone.
A stone. A head. My heart turns over as the shape keeps rising. Smooth, wet head. Smooth shoulders. A man’s shoulders.
I step back, opening my mouth to scream. But his voice stops me.
“Don’t be scared, Sapphy.”
And I know who it is. The voice that has drawn me across the fields is the same as this voice. It is Dad.
I can’t answer him. Shock has punched the breath out of me. He’s turning to me. Drops of water run down his face and shoulders. His hair is long and tangled, like seaweed. His body looks like stone.
I always thought that if I ever saw Dad again, I would run to him. I would throw myself into his arms.
It’s not like that. This is Dad; I know it is. But not the Dad I used to know. I’m afraid to take a step closer. The waters of the pool shine dark and dangerous. They want me to plunge in; I know they do. They want to take me away.
“I can’t come any farther,” says Dad’s voice. He’s breathing hard, as if after some great effort. “Come closer, Sapphy. I can’t leave the pool.”
“Dad!”
“Yes.”
“Is it really you?”
“It’s me.”
“Why can’t you come out of the pool?”
“Come closer, my girl. Let me look at you.”
I move forward slowly, fearfully, to the edge of the water.
“We’ve got to talk. I can’t stay long,” says my father.
“Where have you been all this time, Dad? How did you get here??
??
But I know the answer before the question is out of my mouth. I know it with a cold, stony feeling in my heart. Conor and I were right when we were sure that Dad hadn’t died. He’s alive, facing me. So why aren’t I happy? I thought if ever I saw Dad again, I would die of happiness.
It’s a stranger with Dad’s voice and face. Someone who’s been changed—transformed….
“Who are you?” I whisper.
“I’m your father,” he says in a tired, sad voice that makes me want to run to him.
But I can’t. I’m afraid. The stone in my heart grows heavier. I stare at the water. I can see my father’s arms, his shoulders and chest, but the rest of his body is hidden.
“Dad,” I whisper, “why can’t you leave the water?”
“You know the reason, Sapphy.”
And now I do. The Mer can’t live in the human world. They climb up on rocks by the shore sometimes. It hurts them to breathe the air, but their curiosity is strong, and so they do it. But they can’t survive inland. And Dad—Dad can’t either because Dad—
Dad has changed, like the first Mathew Trewhella long ago. He’s left us, just as the first Mathew Trewhella left his family. And the first Mathew never came back.
No, it’s too terrible.
“Come out of the water, Dad. Please! I know you can if you want to. Try! Please try for me!”
“It’s too late.” My father’s voice kills any hope I have left. He pushes back his tangle of hair. “I can’t stay long, Sapphy. The tide’s high. As soon as it turns, I have to leave.”
“How—how did you get here, Dad?”
“I came upstream.”
I put my hands over my ears. I don’t want to listen to this. It’s all too strange and too horrible. This is my father. Dad’s lips move, but I don’t hear a word. Suddenly I’m angry. How can Dad say it’s too late? Of course it’s not too late! We’re all waiting for him—me and Conor and Mum. We wouldn’t blame him for what’s happened; we’d welcome him home again. We’d help him change back again from—from what he is now.
I take my hands away from my ears.
“You can come home. No one can stop you. We’ll all help you.”
Dad sighs deeply. The water of the pool swirls around him. “This is as far as I can reach,” he says. “I swam as far as the stream would bring me.”
But the Lady Stream isn’t deep enough for swimming, not all the way up. Conor and I have followed it many times, jumping from stone to stone. Dad must have dragged himself uphill between the rough bruising rocks, over sharp stones, from pool to pool. He must have struggled to breathe. He must have hauled himself up by his elbows and dragged his weight over the rocks.
“Did it hurt you, Dad?” I ask him.
“No.” He twists suddenly, looking toward the sea, then back to me. “Sapphire! Quick, there’s no time left. The tide’s about to turn. Come close. Listen to me.”
“You called me, Dad! You can’t go now.”
“I had to see you. To warn you—”
“Dad”—I interrupt him quickly—“you listen. I’ll help you. We’ll all help you. There must be a way. You made a terrible mistake, that’s all. You didn’t mean to choose Ingo forever. You didn’t want to leave us, did you? You can come back.”
“Sapphy, there isn’t time. Come close. Listen.”
Slowly, reluctantly, I move forward. I don’t want to go to the water. I want Dad to leave the water and come to me. But as I take another step, the shine on the dark water lures me. Another step. Another. It would be so easy to let myself slip into it—deep, deep into the water—
“No!” shouts my father. For a second he sounds like himself. “Get back! Get back, Sapphy!”
I jump back.
“Stay there. Don’t come any closer. Listen,” says Dad. “Listen. My dear daughter…myrgh kerenza. There are things you don’t know.”
“What things?”
“I’ve broken the law.”
“Dad! What do you mean? Are you in trouble with the police? Is that why you left us?”
“I’ve broken the law of the Mer to come here to you. But I had to tell you. Warn you. Where are you living now?”
“In St. Pirans. We’re renting a house down by Polquidden.”
Why is he talking about where we live? What does it matter, compared with what’s happened to him? He doesn’t belong to us anymore. I can’t hug him. He can’t come home.
“By the beach? At sea level?”
“What?”
“Your house. Is it on a hill or down by the water?”
“It’s near the beach.”
“So what I heard was true,” says Dad, half to himself.
“Who told you about us?”
“It was just a rumor,” says Dad evasively.
“No, it wasn’t! You knew! You knew all about us. You just didn’t bother to let us know that you were alive,” I say bitterly.
“Myrgh kerenza—”
“Don’t keep calling me your dear daughter! So dear that you haven’t spoken to me for seventeen months? So dear that you let me believe you were dead? Have you any idea how we’ve grieved for you?”
The moon gleams on his face, and I see it clearly. The expression on it is nothing like Dad’s. There are no quick thoughts and no laughter. Only heaviness and sorrow. Water glistens in the new, deep lines on his forehead and at the side of his mouth. I want to go on raging at him, but I can’t.
“You’ve a right to be angry with me, Sapphy,” he says at last. “But there’s no time for anger now. There’s danger. Ingo is growing strong, do you know that?”
“Yes.”
“Ingo is pushing against its bounds. No one knows exactly what that means yet. I’ll come to you again. As soon as I know more, I’ll come. Look out for danger, Sapphy. Tell Conor I’ll come again.”
“What danger? What do you mean?”
“I wish you were all safe on high ground again, Sapphy. It’s not safe to be so close to the shore.”
“We can’t keep on moving, Dad. Thanks to you, I’ve already had to leave my home.”
“Tell Conor I’ll come again. As soon as I hear of any threat or danger to you, I’ll come again. But I must leave now, Sapphy. The tide’s turning. God knows I’ve broken every law to come to you tonight.”
“But, Dad, look at your shoulder. You’re bleeding.”
He glances down. “It’s nothing. Maybe I scratched myself on one of those rocks.”
It’s a deeper cut than that. Blood makes a dark track down Dad’s skin.
“Come with me now, Dad.” I beg him. “I’ll find a bandage. We can make it better. Please, Dad. I promise Mum won’t be angry. I’ll help you. You can lean on my shoulder. It’s not far to Granny Carne’s cottage. I’ll get you there. She’ll help us. Please. Please come home.”
“What would you do with me in the human world, Sapphy? Put me in a tank as a freak for folk to stare at?” asks my father. “You don’t understand. I can’t change back to what I was.”
“Don’t show yourself, Dad!” I beg again as the water heaves. I put my hands over my eyes. I won’t see him. I will not see my own father changed into one of the Mer.
“If you don’t want to look at me, I shan’t force you. But I am what I am, Sapphire. I belong to Ingo now.”
His words hit me like hammers. “You have a family, Dad! What about me? What about Conor? Have you forgotten that we’re your children?”
“No,” says Dad. “I’ve forgotten nothing. None of it. Not one word either of you ever spoke to me. Not one look even. Not a single day of your childhood. But I can’t come home.”
“Don’t you want to know about Mum? Aren’t you going to ask how she is?”
“Your mother is better off without me,” says Dad. “She always feared Ingo, and she was right to fear it.”
“Why, Dad, why? Why was Mum always so frightened of the sea?” I remember Conor’s story of the fortune-teller’s prophecy. Dad has got to tell me everything now.
I’m afraid there are more secrets hidden away, waiting to burst out and destroy my family a second time.
“A fortune-teller told your mother that the man she loved would lose her by water.”
“What?”
“The man you love will lose you by water. Beware of the sea. The sea is your gravest danger,” says Dad, and I know he’s only repeating something he’s heard many, many times.
“And Mum believed it?”
“Yes, she thought that if she kept away from the sea, all would be well,” says Dad. His voice is sad, but he sounds as if Mum were someone he knew a long time ago, in a different life.
“You don’t care about us,” I say bitterly. “You’ve forgotten us. You don’t care about us now.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” whispers my father. Why’s he whispering? Why doesn’t he shout at me? Dad would shout if I spoke to him like that. Dad would yell and slam doors, and then he would come back later and give me a big hug and say, Sorry, Sapphy. I lost it there for a moment, you were winding me up so much.
“Dad,” I say. Dad is still half hidden under the water. Sadness rises in me until my anger is swallowed by it. “Dad, where are you? It’s me, Sapphire. Your own daughter.”
The water seems to be rising too, or perhaps my father is sinking. Water swells around my father’s chest, his shoulders, his neck. The moon shines on his face. He looks strange. Unfamiliar. Mer. He reaches out his arms to me underwater.
I want to go to him so much. I want to hug him tight and never, never let him go again. But I’m more afraid than ever. He is Dad, but he’s also a stranger. One of the Mer. The water is like a black, shining curtain that hides my real father from me.
“Tell Conor,” says Dad as the water reaches his lips. “Warn him of danger. Good—”
But Ingo takes him before the word is out of his mouth. He sinks beneath the skin of the moonlit water. His face is still turned toward me, and his eyes watch me until the water covers them. As the pool swallows him, its surface stirs and lashes around as if some monstrous creature is fighting for freedom there. I watch the dark underwater shape of my father plunge over the lip of the pool and vanish downstream.