Secrets of the Last Merfolk, page 13
Unzipping his jacket and shrugging it off, he dived into the water. It was a crazy thing to do, a sure-fire way of succumbing to the heart-stopping cold, but there was no time to acclimatise, not when Cuan was in terrible danger. The icy temperature hit him like a brick in the face.
The merchild was near to shore but swimming in circles, panicked by the writhing humps breaking through the waves, getting closer. Finn swam up and reached out, grabbing a clump of tangled hair so wet and slimy that the tendrils almost slid out of his hand. Sage’s voice seemed to come from miles away, yelling at him to hurry, to head back to shore, but it was easier said than done. He’d taken life-saving classes in the swimming pool, but nobody had told him what to do about thrashing tails or approaching monsters.
And then the nightmare became real: an enormous, dripping-wet head reared up only a metre from Cuan’s tail and Finn found himself staring into large, round eyes, cold as a shark’s. Easgann Mòr’s jaws opened wide, revealing rows of crowded, razor-sharp teeth. Snapping forward, the eel lunged for Cuan’s twisting, flapping tail. Desperate to protect the merchild, Finn kicked out as hard as he could, but his foot slid against the eel’s slippery skin. As the monster’s jaws clamped down on his neoprene sock, searing pain shot through Finn’s body, and he screamed. As he writhed, struggling to free his trapped foot, the sock peeled off, and was left dangling in the monster’s jaws. Easgann Mòr’s head slid below the surface.
Doing a frantic, one-handed backstroke, gripping the terrified merchild, Finn kicked for shore. But blood was spurting from his throbbing big toe and he felt dizzy with fear.
What are Dad and Ava going to think if I don’t come back? I didn’t even give Mum a proper hug before she went on holiday…
Cuan was wriggling so hard that Finn kept losing his grip, but they were almost there, his uninjured foot half swimming, half slipping on the rocks below the water, nearly at the beach. Then Easgann Mòr’s massive head broke the surface and those dead-fish eyes stared right through him. The monster lunged again, and Cuan let out a high-pitched, terrified wail.
17
Sage
Pulse racing, heart pounding, Sage freed the kayak and hauled it towards the water’s edge. All too aware that there was a good chance of capsizing, she stripped down to her swimming costume and slipped the buoyancy aid over her head. Adrenalin was pulsing through her so strongly that she hardly felt the cold. Behind her, Traigh and Muir’s song surged and Sage swore with frustration.
Why the heck are they singing? Why aren’t they trying to help?
Easgann Mòr’s writhing body was at least five times longer than the kayak, and the monster was creating a swell. Sage had to use all her strength to paddle straight towards Finn and Cuan. She was within touching distance when, for the second time, the eel’s head arced up out of the water.
Cuan’s piercing scream shredded the scrap of courage Sage had been clinging to, and as she stared into the monster’s expressionless eyes her first instinct was to paddle backwards to the safety of the shore.
But I can’t leave them to die. I need to do something!
For the first time in her life, violence seemed the only answer.
Raising her paddle in both hands, she twisted it with all her might and slapped one sturdy fibreglass blade across the eel’s lower jaw.
“Leave them alone!” she yelled, twisting the paddle again so it smacked against Easgann Mòr’s eye. The monster tossed her head from side to side, clearly in pain. “Get lost, you big bully!” Another mighty whack connected with the eel’s teeth. “Swim, Finn! Get Cuan out of here!”
Finn kicked for shore, dragging the merchild with him.
Swinging her great head, the eel disappeared below the surface, causing waves to surge and the kayak to tip. As Sage went under, the icy cold made her gasp and panic seized her. The sea had been whipped into froth and visibility was poor, although she kept catching glimpses of Easgann Mòr’s dark, snake-like form slithering down to the depths. Holding her breath, lungs bursting, Sage tried to focus. She’d practised rolls many times, just not in quite such dire circumstances.
Hips first, shoulders second, head last.
She twisted her body, moving the paddle to the correct angle, applying increasing pressure, and using her hips to try and snap the kayak back beneath her. As she swung upwards and her head finally rose out of the water, she breathed in lungfuls of fresh, tangy sea air.
The water’s surface was dark-blue silk rippled by foamy ruffles, and the sun was shining. Everything looked completely, deceptively normal. There were yachts further out, but even if they came close, they would have no idea of the danger lurking underneath.
Shivering, hair dripping, Sage paddled back to the beach. When she jumped out of the kayak, her legs wobbled, weak with relief to be on land. She dragged the kayak across the rocks to where Finn was sitting. Pain was etched on his face, and his big toe was a bloody, shredded mess. Traigh and Muir were hugging the traumatised merchild and singing a song Sage had heard before. As she watched, Cuan’s wailing faded to hiccups and one small fist uncurled, revealing a tiny starfish.
Then, as the merchildren kept singing, Finn’s injury began to heal over. Sage saw the ripped skin knitting together and smoothing over, leaving only a small, reddish scar. The amazement on Finn’s face was funny to watch: his mouth a perfect circle, eyes bulging like a frog’s.
I guess he didn’t believe me when I told him the merfolk’s song has healing powers.
“We are sorry.” Traigh’s voice dripped sorrow. “It is impossible to leave no trace with injuries such as these. Our powers are limited.”
“Hey, no need to apologise. That was incredible! I thought my footballing days were done – not that I play much football… It doesn’t even hurt any more. Sage, you’re shaking like a leaf.” He handed her his towel, concern in his eyes. “Sorry it’s a bit damp. You were a hero, by the way.”
She tried to smile but was shaking so much her facial muscles wouldn’t cooperate.
“You… you were a hero too.”
She made a tent of the big towel and changed underneath, glad to be out of the icy wind and relieved she’d brought a spare swimsuit, stored in a plastic pouch in the hatch. When she emerged, Finn held up her woolly hat.
“Here, put this on. You’ll get a chill otherwise, without your hood.”
Sage pulled the hat over her damp hair and shaded her eyes as she looked out to sea.
“It’s not over yet. Easgann Mòr is still out there. What the heck are we going to do?” A thought struck her.
We need to know what worked last time.
She walked over to the merchildren and sat beside Finn on the edge of their pool.
“Muir, Traigh… A thousand years ago, when the fisherman refused to help, how did you get away from Easgann Mòr? Maybe we could try the same again. Didn’t the orca help you?”
Muir’s head turned slowly towards Traigh’s. “We must tell them the truth.”
There was a long silence, and Sage saw reluctance in Traigh’s set jaw and wary eyes. When he nodded, she sensed the merchildren had come to an unspoken decision.
Together Muir and Traigh began to speak, voices merging, words spilling.
“The legend you have been told is not the true story. The merfolk have kept a terrible secret for a thousand years… The fisherman was no coward. He agreed to help Mol when he was asked. With strength and cunning, the man succeeded in capturing the Great Eel in his fishing nets. Then Mol put a hand on the monster’s body and began to sing the Song of Cianalas, to spirit her back in time, to before the Drowned Lands were lost to the sea. But as the first notes rang out, Easgann Mòr thrashed her tail and knocked the fisherman out of his boat. Determined to save the merfolk, Mol kept singing to the end. By the time he finished, the fisherman had drowned.”
Sage’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp of horror.
Mol let the man drown?
18
Sage
There was a long, stunned silence, until Finn spoke.
“Wow. Your legend is actual fake news.”
Swallowing, feeling slightly sick, Sage asked the question they needed to know.
“So, what happened next, after the fisherman drowned?”
“The song failed.” The merchildren’s voices were mournful. “It was not powerful enough. Easgann Mòr was not magically transported back in time to Cianalas. While the monster was still struggling to escape from the fisherman’s nets, Mol gathered the merfolk and confessed, and we all agreed we would keep what had really happened to ourselves. We fled the north while we could and came here to the islet to start again.
“The guilt and shame of leaving the fisherman to drown have lain heavily on Mol’s shoulders for a thousand years. Our failure to save him is the reason that contact with humans is so strictly forbidden. His death is our shameful secret; we are not allowed to speak his name…” Traigh and Muir paused and looked at each other before continuing. “But now is the time for change. His name was Donald Gilroy. From the very beginning merfolk vowed to do no harm, yet we allowed terrible harm to befall a human who was trying to save us.”
Sage took off her hat and ran a hand through her damp, tangled hair. “You say you can do no harm, but surely if we kill this giant eel, we’re causing harm to a wild creature?”
Both merfolk pursed their large lips in disapproval. “The merfolk do not wish a violent end for Easgann Mòr,” they said, shock rippling in their voices. “She may be a threat to us, but she is a creature of the Undersea, just as we are.”
Sage bit her lip, feeling a bit guilty about bashing the monster’s face.
But I didn’t have a whole lot of choice, did I? The merfolk might not believe in violence, but Easgann Mòr isn’t so particular.
“Is that why you were singing when Cuan was in danger?” Finn asked. “Were you trying to get shot of the monster?”
“Yes, but the Song of Cianalas did not work for us either… We do not know why. That song is ancient, powerful magic.”
“Maybe you two need to put a hand on Easgann Mòr like Mol did and sing the Song of Cianalas together. Maybe the magic from two of you at once would be powerful enough to send her back in time to her homeland,” suggested Sage. “Though don’t ask me how you’d manage to touch her and sing without being eaten.”
“It’s not the worst idea, Sage,” said Finn. “But how the heck could we keep the eel still for long enough?”
Sage tried to sound upbeat and positive, although deep inside she was beginning to lose hope. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”
Cuan laid the starfish gently on a pebble in the pool.
“I know where Easgann Mòr lives.” The little merchild pointed out to sea, hand trembling. “When I was swimming in the Undersea I found a dark hole, and it smelled bad. I did not like the smell, so I swam away. When the eel opened its big mouth today, it had the same stinky smell! The cave smelled like her… like Easgann Mòr.”
Traigh and Muir stared at Cuan. “You are sure? Where was this?”
“In the deep part of the bay. I can show you.”
Sage jumped up. “I gave the monster a real thump. Broke a few teeth.” Her flat, hopeless feeling had vanished as Cuan spoke, and her heart was beating fast. “She’s probably in her cave right now, licking her wounds.”
Muir started to clamber from the pool. “We should go there, trap her inside.”
“We cannot. The humans did not bring nets, remember?” murmured Traigh.
Finn sighed. “And humans can’t swim underwater.”
Muir and Traigh spoke together. “There is a way we can—”
The merchildren fell silent, then turned in unison towards the sea. “We can hear the others, calling in Undersea,” they explained. “They are near.”
Sage jumped up just as Eilean arrived on the beach, followed by the rest of the merfolk. The air exploded with clicks and whistles, and their thrashing tails churned the shallows into froth. Mol arrived last.
“Are you safe? We saw the Great Eel in the firth and we came. Are you hurt?”
He sounded frantic. He’d seemed so cold and stern before, but now his anxious tone and furrowed brow reminded Sage of her parents.
Eilean’s voice wavered and she seemed close to tears. “We saw Easgann Mòr, feared the worst and found we were less afraid of the monster than of losing our children. Traigh, all of us owe you an apology. You tried to tell us and we would not listen.”
Traigh turned to Mol, his head raised high, his shoulders back, as if a load had been lifted. “If we survive this, then in future Muir and I should be involved in decisions. It is not fair…”
Mol said nothing, still breathing hard from his desperate swim. Then he nodded.
“If we live, you two will join the council with the rest of us. It is time.”
Sage felt frustration boiling in her chest. “Listen! Cuan believes Easgann Mòr lives in a cave out in the bay. And we think the eel’s hiding there now, because I clobbered her with a paddle. So, our plan is to trap her inside her cave.”
“Yup,” agreed Finn. “And when the eel is trapped, we think at least two of you merfolk will need to lay their hands on her, to make the song work. But we need to hurry.”
Eilean flicked her tail, splashing water across the rocks. “They are right. We must act. Now.”
“But how, Eilean?” Mol gave a bitter laugh. “How do we trap Easgann Mòr?”
When we met Traigh and Muir, they asked if we had a net… Sage thought. Looking out into the firth, she saw a couple of small yachts skimming towards the open sea and a large fishing boat heading back to the harbour.
Finn had clearly spotted the boat too. “Fishermen use nets!”
“Yeah, but none of the fishing boats that come in and out of the harbour come close to Whin Bay,” Sage sighed. “I guess it’s too rocky here.”
Again, Eilean flicked her tail. “We could easily bring the boat close enough and swim out to it. But we will not involve humankind again in our troubles. Not after what happened in the past.”
“Indeed. We will not involve the fishermen.” Mol’s voice was stony, his eyes staring seaward.
“You wouldn’t need to involve the people at all.” Finn was clearly trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. “The boat’s heading back to harbour. It won’t be going back out today. You could borrow the net and return it before the fishermen even notice it’s missing.”
“And this is an actual emergency, isn’t it?” added Sage, her voice shaking. “We need to do something.”
Mol kept staring out to sea.
Then he began to sing, and, gradually, the other merfolk joined in. The tune was slow and melancholy, the language unintelligible. But Sage felt the pull of its ancient magic.
As the last notes of the merfolk’s song drifted across the waves, she saw the fishing boat veer from the harbour and putter towards Whin Bay, as if tugged on an invisible rope. The reek of shellfish from the empty creels on its deck was attracting a large following of gulls. An old, disused net dangled over the boat’s port side. The two fishermen onboard were standing on deck, dazed smiles on their faces.
Sage gave a low whistle. “Wow. It’s like in those Greek legends, where mermaids sang to lure sailors to their deaths on the rocks.”
Finn laughed. “Though in real life, the merfolk don’t want to kill the sailors, just borrow their stuff.”
Eilean slid from her rock. “We do not want the boat to come any closer.” She gestured to two other merfolk. “Come, let us go and relieve those fishermen of their net. Quiet now.”
A few minutes later, the three returned to the beach, dragging the net behind them. Sage, remembering Finn’s injured toe, felt a shiver of doubt.
“Won’t the eel be able to bite through that?”
“Eels have very poor eyesight, though it will be necessary to strike quickly, while she is confused,” Eilean explained. She turned to the smallest merchild. “Cuan, you must be brave now and lead the way to Easgann Mòr’s lair.”
Cuan nodded, but Sage noticed his little pointed chin wobble.
They’re all scared, but they’re being so brave. If only Finn and I could swim underwater! We could help hold the net. We’re not going to be any use on land…
It appeared Finn was thinking the same.
“Look, I’m pure rubbish at singing and I don’t know the ruddy song. But if there’s any way I can help in the water, I’m willing. I’m a good swimmer.”
Mol bared his sharp teeth.
“The Song of the Undersea is not one we have needed to use since the end of the Land Time. It is not one I plan to use again. We cannot risk causing harm.”
Eilean’s voice rippled, as soothing as Mol’s was harsh. “We can dilute its effects. It will not be permanent; instead, it will give the children greater strength and let them hold their breath until their task is done. It does make sense, Mol. They can be of no help to us here, and we will need all our voices if the Song of Cianalas is to work.”
“It’s not as if you’d be doing it with bad intentions.” Sage’s voice trembled, a mix of fear and excitement. “You’re trying to keep the merfolk safe. And Finn and I are willing to take the risk.”
Finn shook his head. “Don’t be daft, Sage! You can’t come. You’re not wearing a wetsuit. You’ll get hypothermia.”
“The song provides protection from the cold.” Mol looked up at the gulls still wheeling above them. “We cannot waste any more time.” He gestured towards the merfolk clustered on the rocks. “When the human children are ready, Eilean and I will sing the Song of the Undersea, so they can access our world. Then, when Cuan gives the word, together we will sing the Song of Cianalas, with all the combined strength in our lungs.”
He turned to Traigh and Muir, his eyes brimming. “I failed a thousand years ago, but together, your touch might have more powerful magic. And you may remind Easgann Mòr that she was young once too, and can be so again. Traigh and Muir, you will accompany the human children to the eel’s lair. Cuan, you will show them the way.”
