Song of the Deep (3 page)

4

VISIONS

T
he
seafloor bends downward in front of me. I pass over the ripples of sand dappled
with the dancing light of the sun coming through the waves. The sand gives way
to a field of smooth colorful stones. Tiny silver fish dart past my window as I
glide by.

Looking up, I see the sparkling sunlight on the waves high above
me. I wonder if I could make it to the surface in one breath. My hands reach
out to the metal walls. They are cool to the touch, but I can’t feel any water.
I check the hatch above me. Everything looks dry. As long as the glass doesn’t
crack, the submarine is watertight.

The relief I feel at being dry rapidly disappears when my lungs
start to ache. Suddenly, the walls of the sub feel like they are getting
closer. I’m breathing faster, but the air feels stale. This isn’t all in my
mind.
I’m running out of air
. My body is telling me to get out of the
sub—now.

It’s okay
, I tell myself.
Don’t panic. Everything is
okay.

I look up at the bottoms of the
waves, far above. I try to think, but I can’t focus. It hurts to breathe. The
surface is far away now. I’ll never make it back if I swim. My muscles are
getting weak from lack of oxygen. Why didn’t I think about how little air I’d
have before I took the sub deep underwater?

With all my weight I push down on the right bicycle pedal at my
feet. The gears rotate. I hear the propeller in the back start to turn. I pump
the pedals as fast as I can. The sub is starting to move. I pull back on the
handlebars, trying to steer the sub up. But I’m still sinking.

The surface looks farther and farther away. I use the last of my
strength to keep pedaling. There is no more air. My muscles are too weak to
move now. My body collapses onto the floor of the sub.

I see my father. He’s in a tall lighthouse under the sea, its
light shining through the depths.

“Keep going, Merryn,” he calls to me.

The beam of the lighthouse sweeps toward my face.

The blinding light makes me squint. Why does that lighthouse look
familiar? I’m sure I’ve seen it somewhere before.

I hear my father’s voice coming from far away. He’s singing a song
to me. It’s a melody I had long forgotten. I open my eyes. My lungs don’t hurt
anymore.

There is a tickle of a breeze on my ankles. Puzzled, I look down
at my feet. The breeze is coming through the zephyr whelk. But how?

Now I remember the song my father was singing—it was the one about
the zephyr whelk. Ancient explorers used the shells to breathe in the depths of
the sea. I had always thought the stories of the explorers were just fairy
tales . . . could they actually be true? Suddenly my lungs feel tight again.
The sub is no longer moving, and the air from the zephyr whelk has stopped. I
resume pedaling, and the breeze picks up. I think the shell must be filtering
the air out of the water as the sub moves forward, just like the gills of a
fish.

And just like a fish I have to keep moving in order to breathe. It
seems the sub needs to stay in constant motion to filter air in. If I stop
pedaling for more than a minute, my air will run out.

I pedal slowly but steadily, heading deeper into the sea. That was
a close call, but I feel more confident now. Maybe I have luck on my side. Or
maybe someone is watching over me. Either way, I have a good feeling that I’m
going to find my father.

5

FOREST OF LIGHT

I
can no
longer see the surface of the water above me. The sea is an endless inky
darkness. I have no concept of distance or space. Giant shadows pass slowly over
one another in front of me, black gliding over darkest blue.

There are tall undulating shapes passing by me, like arms reaching
out of the darkness to grab hold of me. I feel something brush against the
right wall of the sub.

I lean toward the window, and as I do something leans toward me.
There’s a face, floating in the water. It’s the face of a horse. Its eyes are a
pure glowing white, and its head is sleek black with a faint green glow
illuminating its edges. Maybe it’s just my eyes playing tricks on me.

The head turns away and I see the silhouette of its body, outlined
by that eerie green glow. The front of the creature’s body looks like a
galloping horse, while the rear looks like the tail of a serpent. The mane and
tail look like they are made of long flowing strands of seaweed, glistening and
translucent in the shimmering green glow.

Every child knows the fairy tales about kelpies: beautiful horses
made of the twisting underwater plants. They lure children into the water, and
then pull them down to the depths below. The stories get into our heads and
make us see things in the darkness. That’s all it is.

Yet I can’t stop myself from following it.

The kelpie’s graceful flowing tail fills me with a feeling of
peace and calm. It turns its head back toward me before diving deeper down. I
follow it, heading deeper into the thickening shadows.

The glow of the undulating creature is hypnotizing. Where is it
going? I want to stroke its beautiful mane. I can’t take my eyes off it. How
can any creature be so perfect and beautiful?

It’s turning back toward me now, but its eyes look different and
strange. They are dark and hollow instead of white. All at once, as if a veil
has been lifted from my face, I see the truth. The horse’s body unravels,
spreading out into long tangles of flowing kelp. The kelp is moving, stretching
out, surrounding me. I feel a sudden downward tug from behind me and my body
lurches forward.

I am yanked downward. I lose my grip on the handlebars as I’m
flung up against the roof. Strands of kelp are wrapping around and around the
sub, tightening their grip. I get back onto the seat and try to pedal, but it’s
too late. The propeller is jammed with kelp.

Hold still
, I tell myself.
Save your oxygen
. If the
sub isn’t moving, the zephyr whelk isn’t filtering air inside.

I try to wiggle the pedal gently. Maybe I can loosen the propeller
just enough to get it moving. But with each wiggle of the pedal, the kelp
tightens its grip.

My breathing is slow and careful. I have to buy myself time to
think.

Maybe if I rock the sub back and forth, I can loosen the grip of
the kelp enough to open the hatch just a crack. I stand up on the seat, bracing
my arms against either side of the roof, and lean all my weight to the left,
then to the right. The sub tilts back and forth. I keep going, left, right,
left, right. I push as hard as I can against the hatch.

It still won’t budge.

My lungs are aching now. My head is hurting. I can’t focus.

I close my eyes, breathing as slowly as I can.

I think about my father, wondering if he would have known what to
do. I’m glad he can’t see me now. He won’t ever know I died trying to find him.

In the darkness, my mind is playing tricks on me. The sweet smell
of wild orchids fills the air. I close my eyes tighter.

I hear my mother’s voice in my head. She’s singing a song. It’s
soft and low and beautiful.

Taking shallow breaths, my voice cracking, I begin to sing along
with her.

As I sing the last notes of the song, I see glowing points of
light appear all around me. Hundreds of kelp bulbs are lighting up, glowing
yellow and orange. I feel the submarine jostle as the strands of kelp loosen
their grip and rise up to sway gently and peacefully around me.

I push down on the pedals and feel no resistance. The propeller
turns and I slowly start to move forward. The air is coming in again. The great
stalks of kelp seem to bend out of my way as I sail through, as if they have
decided I am a friend.

The path ahead of me is lit up with the glowing balloon-like
bulbs. I watch the waving strands warily. I think this must be the particularly
deadly kind of kelp known as strangleclaw. I remember my father sometimes
called it
glowkelp
because of its shining bulbs. He said that if you get
in trouble under the water, you can use their bulbs to breathe. Each one has
enough air for one or two full breaths.

At last the stalks become sparser, and I know I’m coming to the
end of the forest of light. The blackness stretches out in front of me as if
daring me to enter the unknown. Now I know that there will be many challenges
ahead, things I can’t even imagine, but I’ll be ready for them.

Sure enough, as I sail on into the deeper waters, I see two
gleaming green eyes watching me from the darkness.

6

THE CLOCKWORK SEAHORSE

T
he
glowing green eyes stare back at me amid glints of metallic gold. I sail
closer, hardly believing what I’m seeing. It looks like a
seahorse
, but
it must be bigger than I am. I take some small comfort knowing that at least
this horse isn’t made of kelp.

It suddenly darts straight toward me, stopping just inches in
front of the window.

Its eyes are huge faceted emeralds. Its body is made of
interlocking segments of polished gold and its abdomen appears to be
transparent crystal, revealing hundreds of tiny moving gears inside.

It turns its head from side to side as if it’s looking me over.
“Who made you?” I whisper, under my breath. As it turns, I can see that the
back of its head and body are covered in exposed gears. There must be thousands
of them, some so small that I can barely see them.

The seahorse’s body glows from inside with a dancing white light.
Bright little bursts of energy crawl like lightning along the surface and then
disappear back into the clockwork gears.

But its tail looks loose—it’s barely attached. Is this clockwork
seahorse able to swim properly with its tail so badly damaged?

As I’m thinking all this, I realize the seahorse is looking into
my eyes. I suddenly feel embarrassed that I’ve been staring. Although it’s made
of metal and gears, I can’t help feeling that this peculiar creature is as
alive as I am.

And I think it wants something from me.

“Hello?” I say. It just stares back at me. I feel a little silly,
but I keep trying. “My name is Merryn. I’m looking for someone.” It tilts its
head a tiny bit, as if it is listening. “I need to find my father,” I continue.
It tilts its head again. Does it understand me?

My face is close to the glass. The window is starting to fog up
from my breath. I’m about to wipe it clean with my sleeve when I have an idea.

With the tip of my finger I sketch a line of waves in the fogged
glass. I draw my father’s boat below the waves. I point to my eyes and then to
the boat. The seahorse just stares at me for a moment, then turns and swims
away into the darkness.

I wipe the glass free and start to pedal forward. Soon I see a
faint glow ahead of me. The seahorse is waiting for me! Is it trying to lead me
somewhere? Does it know where my father is? Part of me feels that it’s foolish
to trust this strange mechanical creature, but I don’t have any better ideas at
the moment.

The seahorse is moving awkwardly. I think his tail is bothering
him. He’s struggling to go in a straight line.
Why am I calling a pile of
metal and gears a he?
I guess it just doesn’t feel right to call the
seahorse an
it
.

I sail closer, beckoning him to come toward me. He swims up.

“Your tail is hurt,” I say. “Will you let me fix it?” He looks at
me cautiously. I don’t think he trusts me yet. I reach down and find my
screwdriver, holding it up for him, hoping I look like I know what I’m doing.

“Follow me,” I call to him, as I sail down toward a patch of kelp
on the seafloor. This is going to be a tricky maneuver, but I think I can make
it work. I roll my weight back and forth in the sub until it flips all the way
upside down. In one quick motion I pop open the hatch and dive out. I grab a
kelp strand and tie it to the hatch, holding the sub upside down. As long as it
stays in this position, the air won’t be able to leak out.

The water is freezing cold. I’m going to have to make this fast.

Holding my breath, I swim toward the seahorse to examine his tail.
As I reach out to touch it, a spark of energy jumps onto my hand and crawls up
my arm. I feel a jolt like an electric shock. At the same time, visions flash
quickly through my head.

I see a beautiful city made of gold . . . then a tall underwater
lighthouse, casting its searchlight through the water . . . then a circle of
stones, like an undersea graveyard . . . then another flash of light, and then
the images are gone.

As strange and wondrous as the images are, I have to push them out
of my mind and focus on the seahorse. I need to work quickly—I won’t be able to
hold my breath for very long.

The creature’s tail doesn’t look too bad. Two of the screws have
come loose and one of the gears is misaligned. Nothing I can’t fix. I snap the
gear back in place, and his tail immediately begins to wiggle as if he were a
happy puppy. I quickly tighten the screws and check to make sure there is no
other damage, then swim back up through the bottom of the hatch.

I close the hatch behind me and roll the sub back over so I can
start pedaling. I’m shivering from the cold, but when I see the seahorse swim
up to me, still wiggling his tail in thanks, I know I did the right thing.

The seahorse races off ahead of me, turning back periodically to
make sure I am following.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I pant. How is he able to go so fast? I
keep pedaling and steering toward the light, trying not to let him out of my
sight.

He zigzags back and forth, heading deeper into the sea. His head
darts left and right as if he’s on the lookout for predators. I can’t imagine
what would want to eat a mouthful of metal, but I’m not about to stop and
argue.

We approach a long fissure in the seabed. It gets deeper and wider
as we sail above it. Then, after looking quickly to the left and right, the
seahorse dives down into the fissure. I hesitate for a moment, and then follow
him. The walls are volcanic rock, bumpy and black and covered in tiny holes. We
travel deeper through the fissure until we arrive at a dead end. I immediately
stop pedaling when I see the wall, but I still coast forward and bump gently
into the seahorse.

“Sorry!” I wave to him, embarrassed. “No brakes!” I smile and
shrug to try to explain that it was an accident. The seahorse just tilts his
head and looks at me. He moves forward a little bit and lightly bumps the sub,
then shakes his head up and down in a way that almost looks like laughing. If I
didn’t know better, I’d say he was making fun of me.

The seahorse turns back and swims toward the wall. As he does, a
section of the bumpy rock changes in color. The dark brown rock fades into
white spots on top of smooth gray, with a single black eye staring out from the
center.
It’s an octopus
. With a flick of its tentacles, it shoots upward
and out of our way, revealing a tunnel that leads down into the darkness below
the seafloor.

The seahorse swims into the tunnel. I hesitate for a moment,
thinking of the vision I had when I touched him. Who knows what dangers may
await me down there?

Trusting him, I take a deep breath and follow the seahorse down
into the unknown.