sure that Elvira will be chosen?” asks Conor. “There seem to be a lot of Ervys’s people. Won’t they stop her? They know she’s with us.”
“The blood of our ancestors runs differently in Elvira’s veins. Saldowr has spoken of it to me. She is pure Mer. Ervys still hopes to win her trust.”
Faro looks so proud, and so lonely. I hate it. I take his hand so that our
deubleks
touch, and for a second his expression lightens. “If Elvira is not chosen,” he continues, “then the Mer are liars and there will be no true Crossing.”
We wait, tense. The next girl is not Elvira, nor the next. Neither of them makes any sign to Ervys, but the two boys who follow both make the brief touch of knuckle to forehead. Faro’s fingers clutch my arm, digging in deep. I stifle a cry.
“Faro, what is it?”
“It is Bannerys. My friend.”
I know so little about Faro’s life. I should have realised that he would have many friends among the Mer of our age who are coming as candidates for the Crossing.
“He came with me to hunt the orca,” says Faro, his face pale as he watches Bannerys dive to the stone. “He was my brother then – when the orca forgot that we Mer are not seals to be taken for his food.” His grip on my arm loosens. Hard anger sets on his face. “Let Bannerys learn what it means to follow Ervys,” he murmurs.
“Perhaps he doesn’t realise what Ervys is like, Faro …”
“Could
you
look at Ervys and not know what he is like?”
Bannerys has already risen to face the Mer. They choose him and he swims away. Faro remains rigid, fists clenched, until Bannerys has left the chamber.
“Con, what’s an orca?” I whisper.
“A killer whale.”
I look at Faro with respect. “Elvira is coming now,” he says.
Conor pushes forward. And there is Elvira, slight, poised and lovely as ever. She swims gracefully through the entrance, looking neither to right nor left. I notice a stir among Ervys’s men, but no one tries to stop her. In one fluid movement, she dives for the stone. When she comes up level with the ranks of Mer again, she looks around the chamber slowly, as if to take in how many are there. For a moment we see her face, which is calm and sure.
There is a pause, and then the voices come:
“Chosen … chosen … chosen …”
Faro relaxes. A smile of pride lightens his face. I’m leaning forward to say how good it is that Elvira’s been chosen when everything that has just happened falls away from my mind. The Call sounds for me. I know it is for me because somewhere in its music I hear my name. The Call reverberates through the chamber, filling it just as the water fills it with salt. It must be an echo. No one is blowing the conch now. But it can’t be an echo because it’s much too real and clear. Enchanting images rise in my mind: a vast ocean, so blue that it is almost black; fish like rainbows, blue whales, schools of porpoises; no land within a thousand miles, only water …
I move forward. Conor grabs me back. “Saph! They’ll see you.”
“Wait!” says Faro.
“But I have to go. The conch is calling me.”
Conor lets go of me. Faro says, “They say there is no music like the conch when it calls you down to the Speaking Stone. Go, Sapphire.”
I slip out of our hiding place and swim along the wall until I’m well away from the niche. I don’t want Ervys and his supporters to see where I’ve come from. I draw up my knees and brace my feet against the wall of rock. With all the force in my body I thrust off, diving down and down until I reach the place above the Speaking Stone.
There is uproar even before I reach it. Ervys and his supporters have seen me and recognised me. They are baying for my blood. The Mer are standing up from their seats, some of them shouting, some of them clapping in welcome. I glance over my shoulder. A supporter is talking rapidly into Ervys’s ear. Any moment now they will come over and seize me and everything will dissolve in chaos.
“The blood of our ancestors runs differently in Elvira’s veins. Saldowr has spoken of it to me. She is pure Mer. Ervys still hopes to win her trust.”
Faro looks so proud, and so lonely. I hate it. I take his hand so that our
deubleks
touch, and for a second his expression lightens. “If Elvira is not chosen,” he continues, “then the Mer are liars and there will be no true Crossing.”
We wait, tense. The next girl is not Elvira, nor the next. Neither of them makes any sign to Ervys, but the two boys who follow both make the brief touch of knuckle to forehead. Faro’s fingers clutch my arm, digging in deep. I stifle a cry.
“Faro, what is it?”
“It is Bannerys. My friend.”
I know so little about Faro’s life. I should have realised that he would have many friends among the Mer of our age who are coming as candidates for the Crossing.
“He came with me to hunt the orca,” says Faro, his face pale as he watches Bannerys dive to the stone. “He was my brother then – when the orca forgot that we Mer are not seals to be taken for his food.” His grip on my arm loosens. Hard anger sets on his face. “Let Bannerys learn what it means to follow Ervys,” he murmurs.
“Perhaps he doesn’t realise what Ervys is like, Faro …”
“Could
you
look at Ervys and not know what he is like?”
Bannerys has already risen to face the Mer. They choose him and he swims away. Faro remains rigid, fists clenched, until Bannerys has left the chamber.
“Con, what’s an orca?” I whisper.
“A killer whale.”
I look at Faro with respect. “Elvira is coming now,” he says.
Conor pushes forward. And there is Elvira, slight, poised and lovely as ever. She swims gracefully through the entrance, looking neither to right nor left. I notice a stir among Ervys’s men, but no one tries to stop her. In one fluid movement, she dives for the stone. When she comes up level with the ranks of Mer again, she looks around the chamber slowly, as if to take in how many are there. For a moment we see her face, which is calm and sure.
There is a pause, and then the voices come:
“Chosen … chosen … chosen …”
Faro relaxes. A smile of pride lightens his face. I’m leaning forward to say how good it is that Elvira’s been chosen when everything that has just happened falls away from my mind. The Call sounds for me. I know it is for me because somewhere in its music I hear my name. The Call reverberates through the chamber, filling it just as the water fills it with salt. It must be an echo. No one is blowing the conch now. But it can’t be an echo because it’s much too real and clear. Enchanting images rise in my mind: a vast ocean, so blue that it is almost black; fish like rainbows, blue whales, schools of porpoises; no land within a thousand miles, only water …
I move forward. Conor grabs me back. “Saph! They’ll see you.”
“Wait!” says Faro.
“But I have to go. The conch is calling me.”
Conor lets go of me. Faro says, “They say there is no music like the conch when it calls you down to the Speaking Stone. Go, Sapphire.”
I slip out of our hiding place and swim along the wall until I’m well away from the niche. I don’t want Ervys and his supporters to see where I’ve come from. I draw up my knees and brace my feet against the wall of rock. With all the force in my body I thrust off, diving down and down until I reach the place above the Speaking Stone.
There is uproar even before I reach it. Ervys and his supporters have seen me and recognised me. They are baying for my blood. The Mer are standing up from their seats, some of them shouting, some of them clapping in welcome. I glance over my shoulder. A supporter is talking rapidly into Ervys’s ear. Any moment now they will come over and seize me and everything will dissolve in chaos.
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