Helen Dunmore - The Complete Ingo Chronicles - Ingo, The Tide Knot, The Deep, The Crossing of Ingo, Stormswept

“I wish you two would stop arguing,” says Conor. “We must be close to the Bawns now.”

“It’s all right, Con. They would never dive in this,” I say quickly. “It’s much too wild.”

“But it’s not wild on the surface,” says Faro. “It looks perfectly calm, up there. You’d never guess there was a storm in Ingo.” He grins at me, his face bright with malice. “Perfect diving conditions.”

“Don’t, Faro!”

Faro rolls to face me. “You are going to see something, my little hwoer.”

“I’m not your sister. Elvira’s your sister.”

“It’s just a figure of speech. Mer speech, that is. Look ahead. There are the Bawns.”

I would never have thought the Bawns would be so huge. They loom ahead of us like a mountain country. The part that you can see above the water is nothing compared to these underwater peaks and valleys. I thought the Bawns were just rocks, but that was an Air thought.

“You’re going to see something,” repeats Faro, pulling us forward.

We are in the shadow of the Bawns now. The surge of the sea is calmer. The water is clear and there is a strange light, like moonlight. Every detail shows: white glistening sand below us, scattered with shells and crab skeletons, sculptured rock, darting fish.

“This way. Quietly.”

We swim around a broad shoulder of rock then suddenly stop dead as Faro back-fins.

“There,” he says.

A plain of sand spreads out in front of us, protected by the mountain range of the Bawns. The wind dies. The surge of the sea fades to stillness. Here, the sea is as quiet as a garden at the end of a long summer day. And scattered on the plain of soft, glistening, rippled sand there are figures like ghosts, or dreams. I blink, believing they’ll disappear like shadows, but when I open my eyes the figures are still there. Bowed, bent, their hair as silver as the sand, they rest, half lying, half drifting in the still water.

“They are our wise ones,” says Faro. “They will die soon.”

As I watch, a gentle current lifts a lock of silver hair from one of the figures, and lets it fall back, softly, against the bowed shoulders.

“Nothing can hurt them. Nothing comes near them,” says Faro. “Look. The seals guard them.”

It’s true. Watchful and powerful, grey seals patrol the edges of the plain. They swim to and fro, along a borderline that’s invisible to me, turning their heads to scan the water and the mountain range of rock that rises behind us.

“They’ve seen us,” says Faro. He raises both hands, palms flat and outwards, saluting the seals. “We can come this far,” he adds, “but if we tried to go down to the plain, the seals would attack us.”

“But you’re Mer. Why would they attack you?”

“I’m not ready to die yet. The seals know that. Only Mer who are ready to die will cross the borderline. Their families will come this far with them, but no farther.”

“It’s beautiful,” says Conor under his breath. “But they’re not all old, are they?”

I look where he’s pointing. He’s right. Among the old there are a few young Mer. One looks like a girl, younger than me.

“We get sick, just as you do. We have accidents, just as you do,” says Faro. “Not everyone lives to be old.”

“What’s that music?” asks Conor suddenly.

I strain my ears. I haven’t noticed any music.

“There it is again,” says Conor. “Listen!” He looks at me, his face bright with pleasure, but I still can’t hear anything. Faro looks at Conor with surprise, and something else which I can’t identify.

“What kind of music can you hear?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” says Conor. “It’s a bit like the sound you get when you hold a shell up to your ear. But it’s much sweeter, and it’s full of patterns. Listen, there it is again. Can’t you hear it, Saph?”

“No,” says Faro. “Neither of us can. It’s rare to hear it, even for us. And you’re human. Some Mer have the gift of hearing it all their lives, but most of us only hear it when we come to die. It’s the song the seals sing to us when we come to Limina.”

“This place is Limina?” asks Conor.

“Yes.”

“Of course. You’re right, that’s what they’re singing,” says Conor, and for a strange moment it’s as if he knows more about this place than Faro. “That’s what they are singing about. Listen, Saph. Try to hear it. It’s so beautiful.”

“I can’t hear it,” I say.

“You will one day,” says Faro. “Limina is where we all come, and the seals watch over us until we die. No Air Person has ever seen this.”

“But—”

“Your ancestors came here too, when they were wise,” says Faro. “This is where they left their bones. Do you think I could bring you here, if you weren’t bound to it by your blood? You believe you belong only to Air, but I promise you, one day you’ll cross into Limina alongside me.”

I want to argue, but I don’t, and as I stare out over the plain my arguments drift away. How beautiful it is. Ingo has given them birth, Ingo will receive them back in death. There’s nothing to be afraid of here. But how strange it is that Conor can hear the music and I can’t, even though I can swim alone in Ingo and Conor nearly died without Faro’s help. I wonder why that is. It doesn’t seem fair that only Conor can hear the seals’ music.

It doesn’t seem fair because you want to come first in Ingo, Sapphire , says a small inconvenient voice inside me. You quite liked it that Conor couldn’t keep up with you here in Ingo, didn’t you? It made a nice change, didn’t it ?

Yes, I have to admit it. That little voice inside me is telling the truth. I was jealous. But how pathetic it would be, to be jealous of Conor, and the look on his face now as he listens to the song of the seals.

I belong here too. I am bound to it by my Mer blood. That’s what Faro said. Conor and I are both part of Ingo.

The three of us float there in a dream, Conor holding my wrist, Faro holding Conor’s. The grey seals patrol with their watchful eyes, and the Mer who have passed into Limina rest on the shimmering sand. Time seems to have disappeared. There is only now, and now might last for ever.

For ever. Never changing. No one ever coming to disturb it except families bringing those who are ready to cross the border into Limina—

No !

I jolt out of my dream. It’s like being shocked out of my sleep in the sunwater when Roger’s boat passed over.

This is the place where Roger is going to dive. This is where he wants to explore for wrecks. Where the Mer are resting, preparing to die, that’s where he’ll dive. In a place that’s so important to the Mer that Faro says the seals would even kill him, to protect Limina. They’d kill Faro. What would they do to a human trespasser? A shudder of terror runs over my skin.

“He must never come here. No Air Person must ever see this,” I say aloud. Conor looks at me curiously. Faro nods approval.

But even while I’m speaking, the dream wraps itself round me again and my fear vanishes. Roger is far away, in another dimension. Let him stay there. Ingo is what’s real. Can it really be true that this is the place where my ancestors died – mine and Conor’s? But my ancestors are buried in Senara churchyard. When I was little I used to trace the stone writing on their gravestones and imagine what they looked like. What did Faro say? Do you think I could bring you here, if you weren’t bound to it by your blood ?

For the first time I feel as if the veil that hides most of Ingo from me is being lifted. There’s a whole world here, waiting for me. Waiting until I’m ready to understand it – and then it’ll reveal itself—