out of the water. Was it—was it trying to
help
him?
For a third time it tossed the fish high, and this time Hylas managed to catch it. With a triumphant cry, he killed it by bashing it on the plank, then sank his teeth in its belly. Blood squirted deliciously over his parched tongue. Spitting out scales, he gobbled the sweet, slithery guts.
After gouging out and eating the eyes, he cut off the head and threw it into the Sea for an offering; then on impulse he whistled and lightly patted the waves with his palm.
The dolphin appeared. Hylas did it again. “Here,” he croaked, “this is for you.” He tossed over the tail, and the dolphin caught it neatly and swallowed it whole.
“Thank you,” said Hylas.
The dolphin swam past him; then back again, a little closer.
Hylas put out his hand.
The dolphin brushed lightly against his fingers. Its skin was cool and incredibly smooth, the smoothest thing he’d ever felt. Again it swam past, rubbing its flank gently against his palm, and this time it met his gaze. Its eye was brown and wise and friendly, and it seemed to see inside him and sense all that he’d been through: his fear of the Crows, his grief for Scram, his shame at not having been able to protect Issi; his loneliness. And yet he could tell that it didn’t belong to his world. Its gaze was as deep as the Sea, and though it was a living creature of flesh and fin and bone, it was also a spirit of the Sea, who belonged to the Lady of the Wild Things.
“Thank you, Spirit,” Hylas said quietly.
Spirit swam around him, then put his nose to the plank and gave it a gentle shove.
At last Hylas understood. The dolphin hadn’t been trying to throw him off the plank. He’d been trying to push him toward land.
After that, things were much better. Hylas knew not to be frightened, and Spirit knew not to push too hard. He even seemed to know when Hylas needed a rest, and would circle, softly blowing, until Hylas was ready to go on.
But at last Hylas was too exhausted even to stay on the plank. He felt himself sliding off into the Sea, and knew he didn’t have the strength to climb back on. Spirit seemed to know it too, because he swam underneath Hylas, as if offering to carry him on his back. Without even thinking about it, Hylas took hold of the dolphin’s fin with bothhands—taking care to ensure that the dagger didn’t touch the soft gray hide—and Spirit began to pull him smoothly toward land.
It came closer with startling speed. Through a blur of exhaustion, Hylas made out a high ridge shaped like a boar’s back, and dark red cliffs streaked with bird droppings. He thought he heard the gutteral cries of cormorants, and something else, just beyond the edge of understanding: a faint, uncanny, gurgling singing.
A breeze shivered the Sea, smoothing the waves in great dark patches, like the footprints of some vast unseen being. Spirit swam past a headland, and Hylas glimpsed the shadowy mouth of a cave. From within he caught snatches of that weird, echoing song. What
was
this place?
The words of the dying Keftian drifted back to him.
The Fin People will take you to their island… the fish that fly and the caves that sing… The hills that walk and the trees of bronze…
Then all that was forgotten as Spirit carried him into a wide, calm bay where wavelets lapped a beach of white pebbles and the water was a bright, sunlit blue.
His foot struck sand.
Sand.
With a moan of relief, he let go of Spirit and sank into a patch of slippery purple seaweed. Crawling clear of the waves, he collapsed on the shore.
The last thing he heard before he passed out was the
pfft
of Spirit softly blowing as he swam up and down in the shallows.
16
P irra had never seen a bird swim, actually
swim,
underwater. It was black with green eyes. Was it a magic bird because it lived on this island, or did lots of birds swim underwater, and nobody had told her?
Enviously, she watched it surface with a fish in its beak and gulp it
help
him?
For a third time it tossed the fish high, and this time Hylas managed to catch it. With a triumphant cry, he killed it by bashing it on the plank, then sank his teeth in its belly. Blood squirted deliciously over his parched tongue. Spitting out scales, he gobbled the sweet, slithery guts.
After gouging out and eating the eyes, he cut off the head and threw it into the Sea for an offering; then on impulse he whistled and lightly patted the waves with his palm.
The dolphin appeared. Hylas did it again. “Here,” he croaked, “this is for you.” He tossed over the tail, and the dolphin caught it neatly and swallowed it whole.
“Thank you,” said Hylas.
The dolphin swam past him; then back again, a little closer.
Hylas put out his hand.
The dolphin brushed lightly against his fingers. Its skin was cool and incredibly smooth, the smoothest thing he’d ever felt. Again it swam past, rubbing its flank gently against his palm, and this time it met his gaze. Its eye was brown and wise and friendly, and it seemed to see inside him and sense all that he’d been through: his fear of the Crows, his grief for Scram, his shame at not having been able to protect Issi; his loneliness. And yet he could tell that it didn’t belong to his world. Its gaze was as deep as the Sea, and though it was a living creature of flesh and fin and bone, it was also a spirit of the Sea, who belonged to the Lady of the Wild Things.
“Thank you, Spirit,” Hylas said quietly.
Spirit swam around him, then put his nose to the plank and gave it a gentle shove.
At last Hylas understood. The dolphin hadn’t been trying to throw him off the plank. He’d been trying to push him toward land.
After that, things were much better. Hylas knew not to be frightened, and Spirit knew not to push too hard. He even seemed to know when Hylas needed a rest, and would circle, softly blowing, until Hylas was ready to go on.
But at last Hylas was too exhausted even to stay on the plank. He felt himself sliding off into the Sea, and knew he didn’t have the strength to climb back on. Spirit seemed to know it too, because he swam underneath Hylas, as if offering to carry him on his back. Without even thinking about it, Hylas took hold of the dolphin’s fin with bothhands—taking care to ensure that the dagger didn’t touch the soft gray hide—and Spirit began to pull him smoothly toward land.
It came closer with startling speed. Through a blur of exhaustion, Hylas made out a high ridge shaped like a boar’s back, and dark red cliffs streaked with bird droppings. He thought he heard the gutteral cries of cormorants, and something else, just beyond the edge of understanding: a faint, uncanny, gurgling singing.
A breeze shivered the Sea, smoothing the waves in great dark patches, like the footprints of some vast unseen being. Spirit swam past a headland, and Hylas glimpsed the shadowy mouth of a cave. From within he caught snatches of that weird, echoing song. What
was
this place?
The words of the dying Keftian drifted back to him.
The Fin People will take you to their island… the fish that fly and the caves that sing… The hills that walk and the trees of bronze…
Then all that was forgotten as Spirit carried him into a wide, calm bay where wavelets lapped a beach of white pebbles and the water was a bright, sunlit blue.
His foot struck sand.
Sand.
With a moan of relief, he let go of Spirit and sank into a patch of slippery purple seaweed. Crawling clear of the waves, he collapsed on the shore.
The last thing he heard before he passed out was the
pfft
of Spirit softly blowing as he swam up and down in the shallows.
16
P irra had never seen a bird swim, actually
swim,
underwater. It was black with green eyes. Was it a magic bird because it lived on this island, or did lots of birds swim underwater, and nobody had told her?
Enviously, she watched it surface with a fish in its beak and gulp it
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