Tide (7 page)

A single tear, rolling down its cheek.

“It’s OK,” says Elodie. “I can handle this.”

The seventh wave

Is the one that carries my heart

The Atlantic Ocean

Niall was clutching the rusty metal rail so that the wind wouldn’t sweep him into the ocean. He wished he could jump off the cargo ship into the water and swim all the way back to Ireland, back home. But he knew that wasn’t an option. He knew he had to save his own life. Going home was simply impossible. Not yet, anyway. Since the Enemy had risen and started the slaughter of the Secret heirs all over the world, all Niall was allowed to think of was survival.

“Planning a swim?” Mike was beside him suddenly, shivering in his bright red jacket, his arms wrapped around himself. He hated the cold. They could barely hear each other over the roar of the wind.

“Hopefully soon,” Niall replied. There was a gust of wind so hard that he thought it might blow him into the sea – and he would have loved that, he would have loved to feel the seawater on his face, around his body. But the cargo ship was too fast – he would lose them. It was only that thought that stopped him from jumping. It didn’t worry him that the Atlantic is cold and deep and vast and that they were in the middle of it, because Niall didn’t have reason to fear the cold, or the depth of water. He was a Flynn, and Flynns can’t die in water.

“Only a few days to go before we arrive. Look at those clouds! Oh, man. If they come our way we’re in for a choppy sea.” Mike shuddered, imagining the worst.

“Those are not a problem.”

“No?” Mike looked at Niall, puzzled.

Niall smiled, took a deep breath, and sang in the ancient language. He sang the clouds away. Slowly but surely they moved, the gale weakening ever so slightly, then more and more until it was just a breeze blowing softly their way. Mike stared at Niall, his eyes big and round.

“There you go,” said Niall with a satisfied grin.

“Niall. How did you do that?” Mike asked, still stunned.

“That, my friend, was the power of Song.”

“Seriously?”

Niall shrugged his shoulders. “All Flynns can do it. My little sister is great at it. She could sing the wind when she was in her pram!”

My sister, Bridin. And Cara, a year younger than Bridin. Hiding in Dublin. I don’t even know if they’re safe. I don’t know if my parents are safe either.
They would not leave Ireland. Niall would have gladly stayed too, but he couldn’t. It was his duty as a firstborn Secret heir to survive and fight.

“You’re full of surprises, Niall.”

Niall shrugged. “I told you I had the power of Song.”

“Yeah, to kill demons.” Mike lowered his voice to an urgent whisper, swiftly looking left and right. “Not to change the damn weather!” He pointed at the corner of blue sky appearing where the black clouds had been only seconds earlier. His teeth were chattering.

“Yes, well …” Niall shrugged as if his powers weren’t that big a deal. “Let’s go inside. You’re freezing.”

“I am, yes. But I’ve spent forever on this boat, I have cabin fever!”

They walked down the narrow steps, and sat on the benches in the lounge where the crew went to chat and smoke and drink. Two crewmen were cradling a cup of coffee each, their waterproofs on. As soon as Mike and Niall came in, they got up and left, throwing them suspicious looks.
They probably think we’re criminals on the run
, thought Niall.

“You alright there?” said one of the other men. Anders, a Dane, was the only one who occasionally spoke to the two strangers on board.

Mike nodded. “Fine, thanks,” he replied briefly, as Anders too left the lounge. He took his woollen hat off and threw it grumpily on the table. “I can’t wait to be off this boat,” he muttered.

“Five days to Liverpool. We’re nearly there.”

“And then?”

“Another boat, I suppose.”

“Over my dead body,” growled Mike.

“Swim?”

“Ha ha.”

“Ah well, we’ll think of something. We always do,” said Niall good-naturedly. But Mike didn’t hear what Niall had said. His eyes were fixed on the waves out of the window, his coffee-coloured skin suddenly bleached with fear.

“Niall …”

Something in his friend’s voice made Niall’s heart quicken. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. I think I saw something. Out there.”

“Like what?”

“Like an eye.” Mike pointed to the porthole.

“An … Shit! I saw it too!” Niall rushed to get a closer look.

A grey mound had risen from under the waves, and a black eye as big as a horse was staring at them. They barely had the time to register what they’d seen, when the eye disappeared under the water.

“It’s not a whale,” whispered Mike.

Niall’s voice was shaking. “No. It’s not a whale. It’s a Makara.”

Mike’s eyes widened as he recognized the word from the ancient language: sea monster. “We can’t do this on our own. We need to tell the captain,” he said. His Gamekeeper training had kicked in. No time for panic.

“You go tell him. I’m going up on deck to try the Song.”

He’ll get killed,
thought Mike despairingly. But he knew there was no choice.

They both knew they had no choice. There was no way they could fight the demon without Niall’s power.

Mike ran up the steep steps and barged through the heavy door, into the bridge. “Captain. You need to listen to me now. There’s something out there.”

Captain Young was examining a map and didn’t even turn around. He hadn’t been entirely happy about taking these two lads on board for the crossing but until now they hadn’t been much trouble. Still, he had no intention of making them feel welcome on board.

“I’m busy. Next time, knock,” he said coldly.

“Captain Young. There’s a
monster
out there,” Mike repeated, trying to keep his tone even. He knew that if he started shouting he’d be dismissed.

“Are you drunk?” the captain growled, turning to face his visitor.

“No. You must call your men—” Mike couldn’t finish the sentence. The boat made a sudden jump, as if something had hit it, and then kept rolling on the crest of subsequent waves.

“What was that?” yelled the captain. He moved across to hang onto the brass rail that ran along the inside of his cabin.

“It’s a sea creature. A big one.” Mike swallowed. He knew it must sound like something out of a children’s fantasy novel.

Captain Young’s eyes widened. “I knew you were trouble,” he whispered, but as the ship pitched and rolled, he realized that whatever his feelings about the boy, the ship
was
in trouble. He strode towards a low cupboard. Inside were several guns. He threw one to Mike and kept one for himself. They made their way downstairs, struggling to stay upright on the swaying boat.

There was an eerie silence on deck, men standing in clusters, some of them armed, holding onto the rails and waiting for orders. And then Niall started singing, his head to the sky, his eyes closed, the words of his ancient song sounding soft and sweet like a lullaby. Mike blinked – was that a song of war? Because it didn’t sound like it.

The boat was still undulating violently, but there was nothing to be seen, nothing emerging from the waves. The men were staring at Niall – what was the daft Irishman doing? Singing? At a time like this?

Suddenly something grey and vast burst out of the water, soaking them all. “Shoot!” screamed the captain and his men let rip with a volley of bullets.

Niall opened his eyes at once, and the song nearly choked him. He had been trying to soothe and stun the Makara until they were ready, but the men had started shooting too soon. Now the Makara’s tentacles, thick as cables and covered in suction pads, were flailing around in a terrible dance, as the Surari was hit over and over again. Sprays of seawater were everywhere, and screams echoed across the vessel – then those tentacles hit the boat blindly, smashing skulls and breaking bones. Crewmen were falling all around, and the guns were ripped out of their hands, rolling down the deck as the ship tossed in the water and then overboard into the sea.

Mike watched in horror as a man fell just beside him, hitting his head on the deck with such violence that something white and sticky began pouring out of his ears, immediately washed away by a spray of frothing seawater.

Mike was thrown backwards against the metal cargo containers piled up in the middle of the deck, his breath knocked out of him. Slowly, he dragged himself back onto his feet, holding onto the handle of a container, trying to remain upright in the chaos. A shout resounded in his ears, above the screams and moans of the hurt crewmen. “Help!”

It was Anders. He had fallen overboard and was desperately holding onto the handrail, his legs thrashing above the frozen waters – above the mass of tentacles. Mike let go of the handle and made his way, wavering and slipping, towards the rail. He knelt before it, holding onto the bars, and looked into Anders’ terrified face. Mike tried to reach him with the hand that wasn’t holding the gun, but he was just out of reach. Mike attempted once more to take hold of Anders’ hand, as the crewman’s body was thrown around by the roaring sea, but it was no use. In a split second, he made a decision: he let go of the gun.

The ship undulated again, hit by the waves born under the Makara’s enormous flailing body, and Mike watched the weapon slipping away across the wet deck, away from his grasp and into the sea. Anders’face was contorted with terror.

“Don’t let me go,” he mouthed.

“Grab my hands!”

“I can’t!”

“You have to!” Mike implored, desperately trying to close his freezing fingers around Anders’ wrists. All around them there was panic, men shouting and bodies falling, but Mike couldn’t hear a thing, he couldn’t see a thing; he was hypnotized by Anders’ frightened eyes, and he couldn’t look away.

What happened next seemed surreal, like a bad horror film. In a massive effort the Makara lifted itself above the surface of the water and opened its body up in a fan, its tentacles like a huge, dripping crown around the black centre. In the middle of its body, just above the opening that was its mouth, there was a bony beak bigger than a human being.

The next few seconds were so horrific that Mike could never quite describe what happened. All he knew was that Anders was still holding onto the deck, even without a head. And then his decapitated body fell into the bloody waters and disappeared as the Makara closed its tentacles around him.

Mike felt his gorge rising as the full horror of what had just happened sank in. He looked around, just in time to see another crewman lifted by a flailing tentacle and thrown against the containers, his chest crushed and smeared against the metal boxes, suspended in the air in a strange crucifixion. And then the man fell in a heap, like a broken doll.

Mike looked towards Niall. Clearly, guns were nothing against this demon; their only weapon was his song. They had no other hope. Niall was still singing, standing with his arms open and his head thrown back. The tone of the chant had changed; it was cruel, hard, with words that spelled pain and hurt.

Mike winced as the Makara hit the deck to the left and right of his friend, in a desperate attempt to silence the sound that was hurting it so. By luck, or destiny, or simply because the creature was too damaged to fully control its movements, it kept missing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mike saw Captain Young firing the last of his bullets into the creature, barely denting its thick, slippery skin, and then throwing the gun away in fury and despair. A tentacle hovered over him, ready to lower and crush him. Mike could hear a voice shouting.

“Captain! Move!”

That voice was his own. He ran, and his movements felt to him slow and frustrating, like trying to run in a dream, but he made it in time, throwing himself onto the captain just a second before the tentacle could crash down and put an end to the man’s life. Mike and Captain Young lay one on top of the other on deck, and their eyes met. Mike saw hatred in the captain’s gaze, and it wasn’t for the Makara: it was directed towards him. The man flung Mike aside violently and stood up.

“Shut up! Shut up!” Captain Young screamed and leapt on Niall, holding him by the waist and throwing him onto the deck with a thud. The song had been brutally interrupted, and the ship fell instantly and eerily silent. No more screams. There was nobody left to scream. Just silence, but for a deep underwater moan: the Makara wailing in pain.

“Let him go!” Mike yelled, breaking the silence and throwing himself at the captain. Niall was lying nearly senseless, in shock from having had his song interrupted. His body started convulsing, as he came out of his trance.

“Niall’s the only chance we have!” growled Mike as he grabbed Captain Young and flung him to the ground and into a puddle of blood and saltwater. Then he lifted Niall up by the shoulders and slapped him softly on the cheek. “Niall! Niall, wake up! Wake up!”

Niall groaned, his eyes unfocused. “I must … I must sing,” he whispered.

“Yes. You sing or we’re dead,” said Mike calmly. His words were accompanied by another deep, otherworldly moan coming from the watery depths.

“Help me,” replied Niall, leaning heavily on Mike. Mike supported him as Niall closed his eyes and started singing again. At first Mike was supporting most of Niall’s weight, but as the song took flight it seemed to carry Niall’s body with it, lifting him upright and throwing his head back once more.

As the song rose the Makara stirred again, agonized, its tentacles sweeping the deck blindly. Now its grey, thick skin was stained with black blood. With a terrible howl the Makara opened itself up again, its tentacles arranged around its centre like a crown – but now two of them were just stumps, and others were crumpled and bloody. Mike finally allowed himself to hope they had a chance.

But it took him just a few seconds to understand what the Makara was doing. It wasn’t surrendering. It was trying to open itself up again, to do to them what it had done to Anders. The Surari opened its black mouth, and its deadly beak was ready to strike. Mike knew he had to make a decision, and make it fast. Try to move away and interrupt Niall’s song, or stay put and hope the Makara would miss its target? As his mind struggled to choose, he felt a terrible pain cut through his head. Niall’s song, resounding right beside him, was beginning to hurt him too. It was as if two blades had been inserted in his ears and they were twisting painfully, cutting him inside. He pressed his hands against his ears, and he was not surprised when he saw that his fingers were covered in blood.