up, just below the main entrance and looking directly across at it. Ervys’s men are there, clustered around the entrance. They are not blocking the way exactly, but they float in ranks on either side of it. Some of the young Mer pause and shrink back as they enter the chamber and see what’s waiting for them. I am not surprised. These are full-grown Mer, powerful and full of menace. It must take a lot of courage to swim forward if you don’t follow Ervys.
I recognise some of them – Talek – Mortarow … And there, closest of all to the entrance, still and brooding, is Ervys himself. A shiver of dread runs through me. He looks as if nothing couldprevent him from being here, where he wants to be, or doing what he wants to do. Why are so many of the Mer still following him? They know he couldn’t save them from the Kraken.
“The Mer hate the fact that it took humans to save them from the Kraken,” Faro whispers in my ear. “Ervys gives them their pride back.”
“But going to the Deep had nothing to do with pride! We didn’t do it because of Ervys. It was because we didn’t want the children to be … hurt.” I mean “killed” but I don’t want to say it.
“Everything is to do with pride where Ervys is concerned,” says Faro.
I remember what it was like to confront Ervys last time I was in this chamber. When you’re close to him, you see just how strong he is. His arms rippled with muscle; his tail lashed from side to side, like a tiger’s before a kill. One blow from that tail could have killed me. But most frightening of all was the way his eyes measured me so coldly. I was a thing that had got in his way, not a person.
As I watch him, Ervys puts his hand on the shoulder of the man next to him. He turns. Ervys says something and smiles, showing his teeth. A jostling ripple spreads through his followers. There are so many of them now …
“Hagerawl,” murmurs Faro, “Morteweth, Gwandrys …”
“Why are there no Mer women? Doesn’t Ervys want them as followers?” asks Conor.
“Ervys thinks that only men should fight for him. Women can heal and feed and tend the children.”
“So why do any women support him if that’s what he thinks of them?” I ask.
“Those who like being slaves support him,” answers Faro.
I watch the incoming stream of young Mer swimming past Ervys and his threatening supporters. I can’t see any weapons, but perhaps they have them hidden. Spears tipped with razor-sharp coral, or with metal taken from shipwrecks. I shudder, thinking of the gash in Faro’s tail.
But there’s another figure floating between the Speaking Stone and Ervys. He is facing away from us, towards the entrance. His long cloak flows around his body, hiding it, but I would know him anywhere. He is upright, his head flung back commandingly as he faces Ervys’s followers. His right arm is outstretched, his hand held up like a barrier. It’s Saldowr. His eyes are fixed on Ervys’s followers, watching every move they make. They would like to surge forwards from the entrance and block the way to the Speaking Stone, but they don’t.
Saldowr stands alone. Alone, by force of will rather than by weapons, he’s holding back Ervys so that
all
the young Mer can reach the Speaking Stone.
“Only the Call knows who is chosen,”
whispers Faro angrily as if he’s quoting something.
“I thought that the Mer chose, in the Assembly,” says Conor.
“They give the sign of agreement, but the decision is already made, and not by them. It is there in the face of the boy or girl as they swim up from the Speaking Stone.”
Suddenly one of the Mer around Ervys swaggers forward.Deliberately, he looks across at Saldowr as his broad, squat body blocks the way of a Mer boy. The boy stops swimming. Even from here we can all see his fear and confusion. Angry uproar rises from the Mer benches. Some rise in protest, others jeer and beat the heels of their hands together.
Saldowr’s voice cracks out. “Let
I recognise some of them – Talek – Mortarow … And there, closest of all to the entrance, still and brooding, is Ervys himself. A shiver of dread runs through me. He looks as if nothing couldprevent him from being here, where he wants to be, or doing what he wants to do. Why are so many of the Mer still following him? They know he couldn’t save them from the Kraken.
“The Mer hate the fact that it took humans to save them from the Kraken,” Faro whispers in my ear. “Ervys gives them their pride back.”
“But going to the Deep had nothing to do with pride! We didn’t do it because of Ervys. It was because we didn’t want the children to be … hurt.” I mean “killed” but I don’t want to say it.
“Everything is to do with pride where Ervys is concerned,” says Faro.
I remember what it was like to confront Ervys last time I was in this chamber. When you’re close to him, you see just how strong he is. His arms rippled with muscle; his tail lashed from side to side, like a tiger’s before a kill. One blow from that tail could have killed me. But most frightening of all was the way his eyes measured me so coldly. I was a thing that had got in his way, not a person.
As I watch him, Ervys puts his hand on the shoulder of the man next to him. He turns. Ervys says something and smiles, showing his teeth. A jostling ripple spreads through his followers. There are so many of them now …
“Hagerawl,” murmurs Faro, “Morteweth, Gwandrys …”
“Why are there no Mer women? Doesn’t Ervys want them as followers?” asks Conor.
“Ervys thinks that only men should fight for him. Women can heal and feed and tend the children.”
“So why do any women support him if that’s what he thinks of them?” I ask.
“Those who like being slaves support him,” answers Faro.
I watch the incoming stream of young Mer swimming past Ervys and his threatening supporters. I can’t see any weapons, but perhaps they have them hidden. Spears tipped with razor-sharp coral, or with metal taken from shipwrecks. I shudder, thinking of the gash in Faro’s tail.
But there’s another figure floating between the Speaking Stone and Ervys. He is facing away from us, towards the entrance. His long cloak flows around his body, hiding it, but I would know him anywhere. He is upright, his head flung back commandingly as he faces Ervys’s followers. His right arm is outstretched, his hand held up like a barrier. It’s Saldowr. His eyes are fixed on Ervys’s followers, watching every move they make. They would like to surge forwards from the entrance and block the way to the Speaking Stone, but they don’t.
Saldowr stands alone. Alone, by force of will rather than by weapons, he’s holding back Ervys so that
all
the young Mer can reach the Speaking Stone.
“Only the Call knows who is chosen,”
whispers Faro angrily as if he’s quoting something.
“I thought that the Mer chose, in the Assembly,” says Conor.
“They give the sign of agreement, but the decision is already made, and not by them. It is there in the face of the boy or girl as they swim up from the Speaking Stone.”
Suddenly one of the Mer around Ervys swaggers forward.Deliberately, he looks across at Saldowr as his broad, squat body blocks the way of a Mer boy. The boy stops swimming. Even from here we can all see his fear and confusion. Angry uproar rises from the Mer benches. Some rise in protest, others jeer and beat the heels of their hands together.
Saldowr’s voice cracks out. “Let
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