Secrets of the Last Merfolk, page 9
The merfolk existed. He’d seen them. Sage had seen them. And they’d given her the shell box and given him the key. They’d wanted him and Sage to find the map. The merfolk wanted to be found. And tomorrow morning, he and Sage were going to Whin Bay to look for them.
12
Sage
“Hi, guys. Charlotte’s laid us an egg for Christmas!”
When Sage walked into the cabin with the warm, newly laid egg clutched in her gloved hand, she was hit by a blast of heat and a rich herbal smell. It felt good to be home, and the thrill of what she’d seen was buzzing inside her.
In the morning, I’m going to do the most exciting thing I’ve ever done. I’m going with Finn to find the merfolk. They’re waiting for us, I know it. I just wish I knew why…
As she closed the door she noticed Zara tuck away the long, striped scarf she’d been knitting. Sage guessed it was her Christmas present. She’d have to practise a delighted face for when she unwrapped it. She’d have to pretend she didn’t mind that it wasn’t a mobile phone or a gift card. She fully appreciated that using charity shops and recycling hand-me-downs and making your own clothes was sensible and ethical, but she longed, just once, to be able to walk into a store and buy some new clothes with the same labels the other girls wore.
She gave the egg to Kate, who was busy in the kitchen, cooking dinner. Taj was by the fire, building an impressive structure from wooden blocks.
“Come and look at my castle, Sage. And this blue sparkly material, that’s the sea.”
She knelt down to admire the castle. “It’s brilliant, Taj. That must be the way Dunlyre Castle looked in the olden days, before it got wrecked.” She pointed at the small plastic figure lying on the cloth. “What’s Batman up to?”
“He’s not being Batman. He’s being the merfolk, swimming in the sea, like the ones I saw.” He put his finger to his lips, sharing a secret, and this time she didn’t argue.
“Have you and your schoolfriend been working on the seabird project all afternoon?” asked Kate. “I’d love to have a look when it’s finished!”
Sage gulped. There was no chance of that happening. “Yeah. Me and Grace spent ages drawing seagulls. It’s tricky, because the blooming things won’t stay still, and we had to run for shelter when the hail started. Grace is keeping all our work safe in her room. She doesn’t share with a wee brother.”
And she isn’t my friend. Grace McNiven hardly knows I exist.
She’d said hi to Grace when she and Taj had arrived at school in the morning, but Grace had been too busy chatting to her cousin Mia about their plans for Christmas and hadn’t even bothered to look in Sage’s direction. Mia was going on a skiing holiday, apparently, and Grace was staying at their gran’s. Neither girl had asked Sage what she was doing, because they couldn’t care less. Sage had stuck her chin in the air, determined not to care either, but she had cared, and right now the lies felt sour on her tongue. Still, the truth was impossible.
Zara gave Sage a hopeful smile. “I’m so pleased you’ve made friends at school.”
“Just one pal, but yeah, Grace is nice.”
Liar. She’s not one bit nice, at least not to me. But it’s not a total fib. I’ve got a friend now… Finn. So I’ve just changed some details.
Luckily, her parents didn’t ask for those.
“Can you set the table, love?” called Kate. “Dinner’s nearly ready.”
Sage pushed aside all thoughts of the merfolk and helped to set the table. Before they ate, she took the present her teacher, Miss Parker, had given her out of her schoolbag and placed it under their little potted fir tree, so she’d have a surprise to open on Christmas morning. Taj’s present from Mrs Ghauz, a polystyrene glider, had been unwrapped right away, and was already broken.
“So, how was school this morning?” asked Kate, as she heaped veggie lasagne onto Sage’s plate.
‘It was rubbish.” Taj stabbed at his dinner with his fork. “Die, lasagne!”
Zara frowned. “Taj, that’s enough. And Kate was speaking to Sage, not you.”
Sage chewed on a lump of garlic bread and considered her answer. Kate and Zara would have been appalled by the lack of educational input on the last morning of school. The children had gathered in the hall to sing Christmas songs and then they’d watched three quarters of a movie. Once they’d been herded back to their classroom, Miss Parker had let them make glittery decorations to take home. She hadn’t been thrilled when Sage pointed out that glitter was very bad for the environment. At break time, Mrs Garrison, the school secretary and self-appointed Scrooge, had dismantled the Christmas tree in the foyer, grumbling, “I won’t have time later, so it might as well be done now.” It had all been a bit grim.
But it doesn’t matter because there’s so much other, more exciting stuff. I went out in the kayak, I helped to save a friend from drowning, we saw merfolk underwater, we opened a locked shell box and discovered a secret map.
“School was fine,” she replied, keeping her eyes on her plate. “Your placards look great, by the way. I’ll make mine after dinner.”
Usually Sage enjoyed this sort of activity, as she was artistic and good at thinking up catchy rhyming slogans, but tonight her heart wasn’t in it. Every now and then she’d look up from what she was doing and listen intently, sure she’d heard singing. But the night’s sounds were nothing out of the ordinary: Martha playing her violin, Freya from the cabin two doors down, bawling, “Get in here, you daft mutt!” when her elderly spaniel wouldn’t come inside after their evening walk, and the constant whistle of the wind through the bare branches of the beech trees.
When Zara laid a hand on her sleeve, she jumped.
“Are you feeling okay, Sage? You’re really quiet tonight. Have you got another headache? I hope you’re not coming down with something.”
Kate, who was by the fire, stitching a bobble onto one of Zara’s hats, looked up from her needle. “You don’t need to come to the protest tomorrow afternoon if you don’t fancy it. Maybe you need a wee rest.”
“Yeah, I know that, guys. But I want to be there to see Duncan McPherson’s face when he realises he’s got a fight on his hands. Just struggling to come up with slogans. I’m a bit tired, I guess.”
She finished writing NO JET SKIS HERE! in bubble writing and handed the sign to Taj to colour with his felt pens. She’d written on stiff card instead of plywood, so it wouldn’t do much harm even if Taj did decide to clobber Mr McPherson with it. Then she took a square piece of ply and painted her own slogan in dramatic red paint.
LEAVE DUNLYRE HARBOUR ALONE!
Big deal if it doesn’t rhyme. Even if McPherson does build a marina here, we won’t be around to see it. We’ll be living elsewhere, campaigning for another cause.
She wished she still believed that she could change the world, the way Taj did. He was colouring with fierce determination, convinced his NO JET-SKIS HERE! sign would make a difference.
She forced a smile on her face. “That’s amazing! The words really stand out now. Give it here and I’ll tape it to this stick.”
Zara smiled at her. “We’ve heard that McPherson and the television news team will be at the harbour at 2 p.m. We’ll be there with our placards, making a noise. We might be on the telly!”
Trying not to cringe at this hideous prospect, Sage gave her mum a quick hug and went for her shower. When she thought about setting out first thing in the morning, her excitement began to hum like electricity.
And when she was brushing her teeth in front of the mirror, she remembered seeing the face underwater; the not-quite-human, ghost-grey face, and she felt a tiny tremor of fear.
***
When Sage arrived at the castle at just after half eight, Finn was already there.
“Morning. You all set?” He grinned at her. “My dad, sister and evil stepmother are still in their beds. Lazy so-and-sos. I’ve left them a note, telling them I’m going for a run.”
“I told my mums that I was going to my friend’s house this morning to do some computer research about puffins, so if you’ve got any puffin facts up your sleeve, do let me know.”
“Um, puffins nest in burrows. Their babies are called pufflings. ’Fraid that’s the extent of my puffin awareness.”
He stopped dead, and tugged Sage’s sleeve. “Can you hear that? The merfolk are singing.”
She couldn’t reply, her brain tangled in a knot of unsettling emotions. But then a warm confidence began to radiate through her, and a spiky burst of energy. She grinned at Finn, trying to resist doing anything ridiculous, like high-fiving him or punching the air, and she could tell by his wide smile that he was feeling the same way.
But a grim-faced jogger who ran past, clutching a water bottle, didn’t seem to notice anything unusual.
Finn pointed towards the beach. “We’d better get down there, while there’s nobody around.”
Side by side, they scrambled down the hillside that led to the beach. Sage had to cling to the long grass to stop her feet from slipping. A bitterly cold wind scoured her cheeks and tugged her hair into tangles. She wished she’d plaited it, because it would be a nightmare to comb. But at least the sun was out, weak and winter-pale, glimmering on the water.
“I’ll deal with the kayak while you’re getting changed,” she said.
“No, wait for me. I’ll help, once I’m ready.” Finn unzipped his jacket and, like a conjuror with a string of flags, pulled out a large towel. “I brought a dry one in case yesterday’s was still wet.” He looked out to sea. “Do you think I’ll be able to keep up with the kayak?”
“I’ll go at your pace.” Sage tugged off her boots. “We’ll be able to stay fairly close to shore. Whin Bay isn’t far.”
She paused, as it dawned on her that she was being totally unlike her usual sensible, responsible self. “Are you okay after what happened yesterday? Are you sure you want to do this, Finn? I’ll understand if you don’t.”
Finn’s smile was super-confident. “Easy peasy.”
One thing was easy: it was a breeze carrying the kayak across the rocks when there were two people involved.
“You should really be flying Flag Alpha,” Finn said, as he helped her push the kayak into the water. She gave him a quizzical look, and he explained. “It’s a flag that’s attached to the front of a boat to let other vessels know it’s escorting a diver or a swimmer.”
“If you’d told me about Flag Alpha last night I could have made one, while I was making my placard.”
It was his turn to look puzzled, but she didn’t say more. She was kicking herself for mentioning the placard. Finn was here on holiday; he wouldn’t be interested in the whole saga of Duncan McPherson’s plans to develop Dunlyre Harbour. And she wasn’t about to tell him that her parents were leading the battle to stop the changes, or that she’d spent her entire childhood being dragged around from one campaign to the next. She’d much rather stick to talking about the merfolk.
Paddling at a slow, steady pace, Sage tried to remain within three metres of Finn as he did a strong front crawl through the water. They kept a short distance from shore, to avoid the rocks, but the waves weren’t high. There was an icy wind, making the sails on passing yachts billow. The singing had stopped and the only sounds were the crying of the gulls and the distant chug of a fishing boat coming into the harbour.
For a while, Sage called words of encouragement and gave Finn the occasional thumbs up, until it dawned on her that he was probably unable to either see or hear her, as his goggles were misted and splattered with sea spray and his swim hat was pulled low over his head, covering his ears. The journey took much longer than if she’d been paddling alone, but eventually they rounded a large jagged rock and met the shallow curve of Whin Bay.
Sage leapt out and Finn helped her to pull the kayak up the beach over huge, lichen-speckled rocks.
She looked around. “Have to say, if there are any merfolk about, they’re doing an impressive job of staying hidden.”
“Or maybe we were right with the ‘We’re Both Going Crazy’ theory.” Finn tugged off his swim hat and goggles and grinned at her. “Right, let’s explore the bay. No stone or shell unturned. We should split up. I’ll go this way, you go the other. Course, most horror films start like this…”
“Bog off and find us some merfolk. And a flock of puffins would be handy while you’re at it.”
As Finn scrambled towards the tumbled rocks at the bottom of the cliff, Sage carried on along the shoreline. A huge stone tipped as she put weight on it, and she toppled, her bare foot splashing into a dank pool of kelp, her heel scraping against sharp rock.
Ow! Clumsy eejit.
She sat down and examined the large, bleeding graze on her foot.
I should’ve kept my boots on and risked them getting wet instead of leaving them back by the kayak cave.
And then, eerily, the singing started again, higher than the whistle of the wind. The song burbled and rippled like water, and Sage thought she could make out words, though it was hard to be sure. As she sat on the rock, she could feel the song’s energy travelling through her body, coursing through her veins. The pain in her foot faded. When she looked down, the bleeding had stopped and the graze was healing, the damaged skin repairing itself as she stared, unblinking, hand over her mouth.
Oh, jeez. That’s so freaking weird.
Lifting her foot and resting it on her thigh, she checked it closely. The injury had vanished, as if it had never been. Her skin tingled, and she felt lightheaded, euphoric.
The merfolk healed my foot! They’re close. They’re here.
As she clambered over the next heap of stones and jumped down, the singing stopped dead. Before Sage looked round, she waved frantically at Finn. “This way!”
And then, slowly, she turned her head.
13
Sage
If it wasn’t for the ripples in the rock pool made by their flicking tails, the two merchildren would have been almost impossible to spot. Their camouflage was incredibly effective, their grey-green skin merging seamlessly with the lichen blooming on the rocks. Their wet, straggly hair hung to their shoulders, the texture and colour of seaweed. As Sage drew nearer, she could see their pointed chins and wide eyes the colour of green sea-glass.
They’re more like aliens than Ariel. The fairy stories and Disney movies are miles off. I wish Zara was here. She’d love to see real-life merfolk.
Shaking with nerves, she took another step forward. One of the merfolk hissed, and Sage felt her throat go dry. Fear trickled like ice water down her spine. When she’d listened to Zara’s stories, she hadn’t imagined the merfolk as scary, and she wished Finn would hurry up and join her. Sage pulled the shell box from her jacket pocket. As she laid it on rocks at the edge of the merfolk’s pool, the key caught on her sleeve and the box wobbled. Neither of the merfolk made a move to catch it.
Completely unnerved, Sage pointed at the cockle shell, still rocking gently back and forth. She couldn’t prevent her voice from shaking. “This belongs to you. I found it on the beach at Dunlyre. You saved my friend Finn from drowning, and you gave him the key. We heard your singing. We found your map and we’ve come here because…”
Her voice trailed off, unable to explain why they’d come. The merfolk stayed silent, and it dawned on her that maybe Finn had imagined they’d spoken. Maybe they couldn’t speak after all? So she pointed at the box again and mimed picking it up. She was flailing her arms around, pretending to be Finn, drowning, when she heard him clambering over the rocks behind her.
“What the heck are you doing?”
She heard him gasp but didn’t look back, unable to tear her eyes from the merchildren, who remained statue-still, apart from their smooth, dolphin-grey tails, which flicked back and forth like pendulums.
Finn’s voice was a strained croak. “They’re a bit freaky-looking, aren’t they?”
One of the merchildren hissed again and flicked his tail hard, splashing seawater over Finn’s leg. Leaping backwards, Finn slipped on a patch of slimy kelp and landed on his backside.
Before she helped Finn to his feet, Sage saw the merchild’s lips twitch into what might have been a smile. When he spoke again, Finn had the sense to whisper.
“Do they understand us?”
“I think so, yes. I think you just offended them.” Sage tried to make amends with the merchildren, speaking louder: “Your singing is… incredible. You have very… um… distinctive voices.”
“What do you want from us?” Finn blurted, clearly feeling Sage was being too slow to get to the point.
Again, a tail smacked against the pool’s surface, causing a miniature tidal wave. Sage managed to leap out the way, but Finn got drenched.
He’s going to catch a cold if he doesn’t learn to be more tactful around merfolk.
For a long moment the merchildren sat silently, heads tilted. When they finally spoke, in unison, their voices fast as water bubbling over rocks, Sage and Finn had to edge closer to make out the words.
“We are Traigh and Muir, from the Undersea. Our songs are old, old… from the Land Time, before our Sea Time. We sang them when the great wave struck and washed away Cianalas.” Both merchildren stretched out their hands, fingers webbed like a frog’s. “Long ago, when Easgann Mòr followed us north, we sang our songs again.”
Sage nodded. “And only the fisherman heard you, and he refused to help.”
When Sage spoke, the merchildren turned their heads towards her and continued, in eerie unison. “Our elder, Mol, says humans are as useless as gold to selkies. But we thought if we sang to human children, a few might hear us, and might even have the courage to help. We sang, and you heard us. Only two, but hope filled our hearts. We took Mol’s shell box and made the map so you could find us in a place we could talk without being seen. You heard us and you came. We are very glad to see you.”
