The Tide Knot (9 page)

  Just then I hear another sound. I thought Granny Carne’s cottage was too far from the sea for the noise of the waves to carry up here. It must be the way the wind is blowing tonight. But no, the air is still . There isn’t a breath of wind, but I can hear the sound of the waves. They’re breaking in our cove, rolling up on the clean pale sand that’s exposed at low tide and hidden when the tide is high. They’re breaking in the moonlight, in long curls of foam.

  Listen. Listen. What was that?

 
“Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…

   Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…”
 

It’s a wave. It’s the shushing noise of a wave as it breaks on the sand.

 
“Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…

   Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…”
 

I stand by the window, frozen. This has happened before.

  That time when we were still living in our cottage and I heard a voice in the night, and then Sadie started barking across the fields and the owl flew past the window, and the voice disappeared.

 
“Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…
 

   Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…”
    

  Sadie doesn’t bark. Nothing stirs but the voice. It makes the skin prickle on the back of my neck.
It is not the same
voice as the one I heard last time.
 

  This voice is Dad’s. I know it. I couldn’t be mistaken. Dad is call ing me. How can this be happening?

  One half of my mind wants Sadie to bark and Granny Carne to wake. Last summer, when I heard a voice at night, I’m sure Granny Carne woke. The owl that flew by my window had her eyes. If Sadie barks now, Dad’s voice will fade away and it’l be dark again. I’ll go to sleep. In the morning it will all seem like a dream.

  But the other part of my mind tingles with longing. This is not a dream. I’m wide-awake, although it feels as if the whole world is sleeping except for me. Sadie has gone far away into the winter sleep that Granny Carne said would heal her. Wherever she is, I don’t think she’ll hear me or know what’s happening to me.

  I look up at the sky. Last time Granny Carne watched over me and guarded me in the form of an owl. But not tonight. Maybe even Granny Carne’s power is dormant.

  Conor and Mum are far away in St. Pirans. But I’m not afraid. I don’t want any guardians tonight. Nothing and no one is going to stop me from going to Dad.

 
“Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…
 

 
“SSSSsssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…”
 

  How strange that I was thinking of going down to our cottage to find the Dad of the past. I don’t have to find Dad at all . He has found me.

 
“I
’m coming,” I answer softly. “Wait for me.”

 
“Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…
  

 
“SSSSsssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…”
  

  The voice isn’t far away. Not as far as the sea. Dad’s near. He’s waiting for me, out there in the night. I pulls on my clothes, push my feet into my trainers, and go back to the window.

  The window is low, and it’s easy to clamber onto the sil .

  The earth bank doesn’t look quite so close now. I’ll have to spring right out, or I’ll fall back against the cottage wall .

  One…two…three.

  I jump out like a cat. The earth rushes up to meet me, and I land sprawling, but I grab hold of a tuft of heather and stop myself from slithering down the bank. Very careful y I scramble along the bank, around the side of the cottage.

  I come out onto the rough, tussocky grass in front of the cottage. The moonlight is so bright here that I have a sharp moon shadow. I glance up at the windows. No one there.

  Dad’s voice comes again, stronger now.  

 
“Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…

   Sssssssapphhhhiiiiiiiire…”
 

If I follow his voice, I’ll find him. I set off on the steep path that climbs down the side of the hill , fol owing the voice.

  Sometimes it is very quiet; sometimes it’s louder. It says nothing but my name. We’ve left the path now, and the voice is making its own path for me. On and on over the rough ground. My feet seem to know which way is best. I don’t trip or stumble. We’re above the churchtown, and far in the distance I can see the square tower of the church in the moonlight. It’s so bright. Why doesn’t everybody wake up?

  The voice keeps pulling me. I go faster, until I’m almost running through bracken and heather, past furze bushes and looming granite boulders.

  At last the voice leads me to the edge of a field. We’re not so far from the sea here. It shines in the distance, as bright as if the moon has polished it. The voice leads me to a stile in the granite hedge. There’s a bunch of cattle huddled by the stile. What are cattle doing out in the fields on a November night? They snort as I go by, but they’re not scared of me. They put their heads up and follow me with their eyes. Their warm, safe smell wraps round me for a minute like a blanket, and then I hurry on to the next stile, across the next field and over the field gate. And now I can smell water. It’s not the sea with its sharp salt tang. It’s freshwater.

  I know where I’m going now. I’m crossing to the Lady Stream that runs off the Downs, under the road, through the village, and on between the fields until it plunges into a deep cleft down to the sea. The Lady Stream is quick and strong.

  There are waterfalls as it rushes down the steep hill s and wide brown pools where trout swim.  

  The sound of the stream tumbling over rocks is loud now.

  It’s full of autumn rain. My heart beats hard, as if the current of my blood is rushing just as fast as the water. I’m almost in sight of the stream.

  Here it is. I’ve come out by one of the deepest pools, where the water gathers itself before plunging on to the sea.

  Moonlight flickers on the surface of the stream and shines on the granite boulders beside the pool.

  And then I see it. In the center of the pool there’s a round bulk that shouldn’t be there, wet and glistening. A boulder on the surface of the water. A floating boulder. No, that’s crazy.

  Granite boulders can’t
float
. As I watch, the stone moves.

  Moonlight stirs, breaks, ripples. The stone
is
moving, rising, coming out into the air—

 
“Sapphire,”
says the stone.

  A stone. A head. My heart turns over as the shape keeps rising. Smooth, wet head. Smooth shoulders. A man’s shoulders.

  I step back, opening my mouth to scream. But his voice stops me.

  “Don’t be scared, Sapphy.”

  And I know who it is. The voice that has drawn me across the fields is the same as this voice. It is Dad.

  I can’t answer him. Shock has punched the breath out of me. He’s turning to me. Drops of water run down his face and shoulders. His hair is long and tangled, like seaweed.  

  His body looks like stone.

  I always thought that if I ever saw Dad again, I would run to him. I would throw myself into his arms.

  It’s not like that. This is Dad; I know it is. But not the Dad I used to know. I’m afraid to take a step closer. The waters of the pool shine dark and dangerous. They want me to plunge in; I know they do. They want to take me away.

  “I can’t come any farther,” says Dad’s voice. He’s breathing hard, as if after some great effort. 

“Come closer, Sapphy. I can’t leave the pool.”

  “Dad!”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it really you?”

  “It’s me.”

  “Why can’t you come out of the pool?”

  “Come closer, my girl. Let me look at you.” 

I move forward slowly, fearful y, to the edge of the water.

  “We’ve got to talk. I can’t stay long,” says my father.

  “Where have you been all this time, Dad? How did you get here?”

  But I know the answer before the question is out of my mouth. I know it with a cold, stony feeling in my heart. Conor and I were right when we were sure that Dad hadn’t died.

  He’s alive, facing me. So why aren’t I happy? I thought if ever I saw Dad again, I would die of happiness.

  It’s a stranger with Dad’s voice and face. Someone who’s been changed—transformed….

  “Who are you?” I whisper.

  “I’m your father,” he says in a tired, sad voice that makes me want to run to him.

  But I can’t. I’m afraid. The stone in my heart grows heavier. I stare at the water. I can see my father’s arms, his shoulders and chest, but the rest of his body is hidden.

  “Dad,” I whisper, “
why
can’t you leave the water?”

  “You know the reason, Sapphy.”

  And now I do. The Mer can’t live in the human world. They climb up on rocks by the shore sometimes. It hurts them to breathe the air, but their curiosity is strong, and so they do it.

  But they can’t survive inland. And Dad—Dad can’t either because Dad—Dad has changed, like the first Mathew Trewhel a long ago. He’s left us, just as the first Mathew Trewhel a left his family. And the first Mathew never came back.

  No, it’s too terrible.

  “Come out of the water, Dad.
Please!
I know you can if you want to. Try!
Please
try for me!”   

  “It’s too late.” My father’s voice kills any hope I have left.

  He pushes back his tangle of hair. “I can’t stay long, Sapphy.

  The tide’s high. As soon as it turns, I have to leave.”

  “How—how did you get here, Dad?”

  “I came upstream.”

  I put my hands over my ears. I don’t want to listen to this.

  It’s all too strange and too horrible. This is my
father
. Dad’s lips move, but I don’t hear a word. Suddenly I’m angry. How can Dad say it’s too late? Of course it’s not too late! We’re all waiting for him—me and Conor and Mum. We wouldn’t blame him for what’s happened; we’d welcome him home again. We’d help him change back again from—from what he is now.

  I take my hands away from my ears.

  “You
can
come home. No one can stop you. We’ll all help you.”

  Dad sighs deeply. The water of the pool swirls around him. “This is as far as I can reach,” he says. “I swam as far as the stream would bring me.”

  But the Lady Stream isn’t deep enough for swimming, not all the way up. Conor and I have followed it many times, jumping from stone to stone. Dad must have dragged himself uphill between the rough bruising rocks, over sharp stones, from pool to pool. He must have struggled to breathe. He must have hauled himself up by his elbows and dragged his weight over the rocks.  

  “Did it hurt you, Dad?” I ask him.

  “No.” He twists suddenly, looking toward the sea, then back to me. “Sapphire! Quick, there’s no time left. The tide’s about to turn. Come close. Listen to me.”

  “You called me, Dad! You can’t go now.”

  “I had to see you. To warn you—”

  “Dad”—I interrupt him quickly—“
you
listen. I’ll help you.

  We’ll all help you. There must be a way. You made a terrible mistake, that’s all . You didn’t mean to choose Ingo forever.

  You didn’t want to leave us, did you? You can come back.”

  “Sapphy, there isn’t time. Come close.
Listen.
” Slowly, reluctantly, I move forward. I don’t want to go to the water. I want Dad to leave the water and come to me.

  But as I take another step, the shine on the dark water lures me. Another step. Another. It would be so easy to let myself slip into it—deep, deep into the water—

  “No!” shouts my father. For a second he sounds like himself. “Get back! Get back, Sapphy!”

  I jump back.

  “Stay there. Don’t come any closer. Listen,” says Dad.

  “Listen. My dear daughter…
myrgh kerenza
. There are things you don’t know.”

  “What things?”

  “I’ve broken the law.”  

  “Dad! What do you mean? Are you in trouble with the police? Is that why you left us?”

  “I’ve broken the law of the Mer to come here to you. But I had to tell  you. Warn you. Where are you living now?”

  “In St. Pirans. We’re renting a house down by Polquidden.”

  Why is he talking about where we live? What does it matter, compared with what’s happened to him? He doesn’t belong to us anymore. I can’t hug him. He can’t come home.

  “By the beach?  At sea level?”

  “What?”

  “Your house. Is it on a hill or down by the water?”

  “It’s near the beach.”

  “So what I heard was true,” says Dad, half to himself.

  “Who told you about us?”

  “It was just a rumor,” says Dad evasively.

  “No, it wasn’t! You knew! You knew all about us. You just didn’t bother to let us know that you were alive,” I say bitterly.

 
“Myrgh kerenza—”
 

  “Don’t keep calling me your dear daughter! So
dear
that you haven’t spoken to me for seventeen months? So
dear
that you let me believe you were dead? Have you any idea how we’ve grieved for you?”

  The moon gleams on his face, and I see it clearly. The expression on it is nothing like Dad’s. There are no quick thoughts and no laughter. Only heaviness and sorrow. Water glistens in the new, deep lines on his forehead and at the side of his mouth. I want to go on raging at him, but I can’t.

  “You’ve a right to be angry with me, Sapphy,” he says at last. “But there’s no time for anger now. There’s danger.  Ingo is growing strong, do you know that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ingo is pushing against its bounds. No one knows exactly what that means yet. I’ll come to you again. As soon as I know more, I’ll come. Look out for danger, Sapphy. Tel Conor I’ll come again.”

  “What danger? What do you mean?”

  “I wish you were all safe on high ground again, Sapphy.

  It’s not safe to be so close to the shore.”

  “We can’t keep on moving, Dad. Thanks to you, I’ve already had to leave my home.”

  “Tel Conor I’ll come again. As soon as I hear of any threat or danger to you, I’ll come again. But I must leave now, Sapphy. The tide’s turning. God knows I’ve broken every law to come to you tonight.”