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

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      “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—

      “No Air Person must see this. No divers in Ingo,” I say aloud.

      “I knew you’d understand, once you’d seen this place,” says Faro, as if he’s read my thoughts. We look at each other in agreement, on the same side.

      “What do you mean?” breaks in Conor. He swings round to us, turning his back on Limina. He’s not listening to any music now. His eyes are sharp on me and Faro. “Do you mean Roger? How are you going to keep him out? What are you going to do?”

      “We won’t do anything,” says Faro. His gaze drifts towards the patrolling seals. Grey seals are formidable creatures, in their own element. It’s not safe to anger them. The swipe of their tail, their powerful muscles, their huge shoulders, the gouge of their teeth, their claws—

      “I see,” says Conor. He looks at me, and then at Faro. His look is a challenge. “Oh yes, we will do something,” says Conor quietly.

      “What?” asks Faro.

      “I’m not going to stand by and watch Roger get hurt. You think it’s all right for Roger to have an accident, do you? Just because he’s strayed into your world without meaning to? It’s not Roger’s fault. He doesn’t know this place is here. This Limina. It doesn’t mean anything to him, how could it? He’s got to be warned, so he doesn’t come here. He won’t dive if he knows.”

      “Won’t he?” asks Faro. “Look over there. No, there. That shape in the sand.”

      “I can’t see anything—”

      “Yes, you can. There.”

      But all I can see is a dark mound, covered in weed.

      “Part of a ship’s hull,” says Faro. “That’s what your diver is looking for. It’s buried there in the sand.”

      “Wow,” says Conor, suddenly focusing on it. “Maybe it was a treasure ship.”

      “Maybe it was,” agrees Faro.

      “Haven’t you ever explored it?”

      Faro shrugs. “What for?”

      “Gold? Jewels?”

      Faro shakes his head. “We don’t bother with them.”

      “But I thought…” I say, “I mean, in pictures, Mer Kings always have crowns and jewels.”

      “That’s because Air People are drawing the pictures. They draw the things they’d want themselves, if they were kings. But do you know how heavy gold is? Just think of trying to surf a current with a lump of gold dragging you down.”

      “Faro, people don’t wear lumps of gold. It’s far too expensive. They wear a chain or something like that.”

      “A chain! Really, Air People are strange. Why would they want to chain themselves up?”

      “They don’t, it’s—”

      “Air People are in love with metal, as far as I can see. They’ll do anything to get it. We hear them sometimes, digging tunnels deep under Ingo, mining for tin.”

      “That can’t be true,” says Conor. “All the tin mines round here closed years ago. You can’t hear miners digging these days.”

      Faro shrugs. “They mined here for thousands of years. They’ll be back. Air People will do anything for metal.”

      He looks out over the quiet plain, at the drifting, silvery figures in the ghostly light. They look as if a puff of current will carry them away.

      “Look!” exclaims Conor, under his breath, grabbing my shoulder. “Over there! What’s wrong with the seals?”

      He’s right. They’ve stopped patrolling. They are massing on the borderline, about fifty metres from the farthest outcrop of the Bawns. Two seals – five – seven. More are swimming towards the group СКАЧАТЬ