Fathom Five: The Unwritten Books Page 13

  Rosemary froze, hand stuck in midair as if she were suddenly coated in glass. She couldn’t even turn her head.

  “Stand up,” said Eleanna. “Let me see you.”

  The air around Rosemary pushed and prodded her until she was on her feet and facing the old woman. Her jaw strained as she tried to speak.

  A smile touched Eleanna’s lips. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  The air binding Rosemary loosened up and rippled away. She staggered on shaky knees. She brought up her hands and glared warily at Eleanna.

  “As you can see, songbreaker, some songs are harder to break than others. I may look like a frail old woman, but when I want it to be, my mind is strong.” She indicated an oak chair sitting beside the dining room table. “Have a seat. Let us talk. What is your name?”

  Rosemary hesitated, then decided to sit down. She crossed the floor, giving Eleanna a wide berth. She kept her eyes on Eleanna as the old woman went to the table beside her rocking chair, took a china cup, and poured some tea from a pot. She set this beside Rosemary, who stared at the brown liquid but would not drink.

  Eleanna chuckled. “You can see that deception doesn’t work on you, songbreaker. That is tea. Drink. It will soothe your throat.”

  Rosemary picked up the cup and sipped the warm liquid. She winced as her throat protested and set the cup down.

  “And your name?” asked Eleanna, sitting down.

  “Rosemary. Rosemary Watson.”

  “Did my daughter bring you here, Rosemary Watson?”

  “Your daugh— Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

  “You’ve caused us quite a lot of trouble, young lady.”

  “Good!”

  “Ah, spirit.” Eleanna nodded. “Yes, you would have to have spirit in order to survive the transition between your world and ours. And you would have to be strongly linked to Peter in order to come here at all.”

  “You might say that, too,” said Rosemary. “Well, I’m here now, and since you’re obviously not going to kill me, or else you would have done so already, I’d like to know what you’re going to do about it.”

  Eleanna didn’t answer. She sipped her tea for a long moment before setting it aside.

  “You’ve met Merius and Fionarra, my children?” she said. “The heirs to my throne once I pass on — which I will, despite Fionarra’s desire to the contrary, poor girl. Tell me, Rosemary, what sort of leaders would they be?”

  Rosemary didn’t answer, but her raised eyebrows told the story.

  Eleanna nodded. “Their rivalry is bitter and intense, as only sibling rivalries can be. If either became leader of this village, the other would not accept it. It would do great harm to the community. But then we have Peter.”

  Rosemary blinked. “You’re going to make Peter leader instead?”

  “I will not lie to you, Rosemary,” said Eleanna. “I want Peter to stay. He would stay if he was truly alone, but he isn’t. He has you.”

  “And I’m a songbreaker.”

  “Understand that if our village didn’t need Peter, we would realize our mistake and return him to you. But we do need Peter. It is only your songbreaking ability that is preventing me from sending you back to your beach right now, bound in iron.”

  “So, what will you do?”

  Eleanna got up from her rocking chair. Rosemary gripped the edge of the table, ready to fight, but the old woman didn’t approach her. She studied the far corner of the room, deep in thought.

  Then she turned on Rosemary. “You may make a challenge for the heart of Peter McAllister.”

  “Challenge? His heart?”

  “I will give you one opportunity. I will tell no one of your visit here: not Merius, not Fionarra. Hide yourself until the Homecoming Ceremony. If you cannot break the glamour enthralling Peter at that time, then he is ours. If you can sway him to your side, he is yours.”

  “Why do you always refer to Peter as property?”

  “However you do it, this is your only chance,” said Eleanna. “If you fail, then Peter is ours, and you will leave immediately, or be killed.”

  “How am I going to infiltrate the Homecoming Ceremony? I don’t know what the Homecoming Ceremony is!”

  “It is a procession leading Peter through the village to the central square where he will drink of the chalice and be made a part of our world. He will be ‘welcomed by our blood,’ as the saying goes. There are dancers and an honour guard. The entire village will be there, ready to welcome our new arrival.”

  “Honour guard? The whole village? How can I challenge that?”

  Eleanna stepped to a closet and pulled out a bundle of sea-green silk. She tossed this to Rosemary. “You will also have this.”

  Rosemary stared at the hem of a long dress.

  “That dress is worn by members of the Welcome Circle. They surround the initiate along the parade route and dance to celebrate the Homecoming.”

  Rosemary goggled. “You expect me to dance?”

  “No, I expect you to fail,” said Eleanna. “But this is the chance that, by law, I must give you.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “Trust or do not trust, that is your choice,” said Eleanna. “But this is your only opportunity. Now go.”

  Silence descended upon the room. Rosemary looked from the bundle of fabric to Eleanna and back again. Eleanna said nothing. Finally, Rosemary stood up. Carrying the clothes under her arm, she made for the door.

  Eleanna returned to her rocking chair. As Rosemary stepped into the hall, she called, “Good luck.”

  Rosemary hesitated, and then said, “Thank you.” Then she was gone.

  ***

  Rosemary retreated to the dead end where she’d woken up after fleeing the mob. She couldn’t say why, but she felt safe there, and it seemed an appealing place for a base of operations. As she entered it, she felt like she was passing a curtain of shadow.

  She examined the bundle in her hands: a loose, flowing dress with an off-the-shoulder neck, a long shawl-scarf of the same fabric, and length after length of transparent, sea-green gauze. There were no shoes. Did the dancers go barefoot? Her shoes would probably stand out unless she painted them green.

  She stripped off her clothes and stuffed them at the base of the cliff. She slid on the green dress, which was only a little tight around her waist and fell to her ankles. Actually, it looked good, except for her shoulders.

  She sighed at the white straps. “The bra is a dead giveaway.” She undid her brassiere and hid it with the rest of her clothes. Then she placed the shawl-scarf behind her neck and wrapped the ends along both arms.

  “I could wear this to the Halloween Homecoming Dance,” she muttered. Then she looked at the strips of gauze. “But I have no idea what to do with you.”

  Then she froze. Voices had returned to the village.

  She heard chatter in the windows and drawers being opened and closed. She heard footfalls in the gullies, and a hunting party returning to the junction closest to her hideout.

  “She could be anywhere, Merius,” a woman snapped. “We cannot hope to find her unless she returns to the village.”

  “It is rare for Fionarra and Merius to stand together on an issue,” said a young man.

  “It is vital that we find and neutralize the songbreaker,” rumbled Merius.

  “Vital, yes,” said Fionarra. “But much as I wish to continue the search, we would be wasting our time. The Homecoming Ceremony must not be delayed.”

  This brought silence to the hunting party. Rosemary pressed herself as close as she dared to the curtain of shadow.

  “Hold the ceremony as planned?” the young man spluttered. “With the songbreaker so close at hand?”

  “She can’t break our hold on Peter once he endures the ceremony,” snapped Fionarra.

  “Endures?” Rosemary mouthed.

  Fionarra went on. “Delaying making Peter one of us is precisely what the songbreaker wants. Therefore, we have
to act now.”

  “Fionarra’s right,” said Merius grudgingly. “When Peter is one of us, there will be no reason for the songbreaker to stay. She may even leave willingly, though I am loath to take the risk.”

  “Enough,” snapped Fionarra. “I call for a vote.”

  “Fionarra,” the young man gasped. “We are not in chambers —”

  “Eleven of us are here; all but one of the council,” Fionarra stormed. “I call for a vote!”

  “Very well.” The young man cleared his throat. “Those in favour of cancelling the ceremony until the songbreaker is found?”

  There was a shuffle of hands. Then the chairman said, “Five. All opposed?”

  Another shuffle of hands. “Five. We have a tie. As chairman, I must now cast the deciding vote, and I —”

  “We do not have a tie,” said Fionarra curtly. “Eleanna is not here, and as she is my mother, I hold her vote. She stands with me.”

  “Fionarra —”

  “She is my mother too,” rumbled Merius. “If she doesn’t stand with Fionarra, then she stands with me, and I also vote to hold the ceremony.”

  The chairman sighed. “As you wish. The vote carries. Send for Peter. Tell him the ceremony is about to begin.”

  ***

  Peter listened to the surf. The sound washed over his mind, drowning his spinning thoughts. He closed his eyes and was alone in a universe of waves and his breathing. He relaxed. Unbidden, his mind reached out.

  There was a sickening thump.

  He fell on the ice-hardened asphalt. A pain shot up his arm.

  He stumbled forward, feet slipping on the icy path, struggling for the gate and the crowd of people surrounding the scene.

  “Mom! Dad!” Some in the crowd turned. Arms clasped around him, holding him back.

  “There’s nothing you can do, Son!”

  “Stay back! The ambulance is on its way!”

  “No!” Peter squealed. “Mom!”

  A policeman grabbed him. Peter tried to beat him back. The pain from his broken arm blackened his sight. The next thing he remembered, he was sitting in a wheelchair, his arm in a cast, a doctor leaning close. Behind him, at the other end of the waiting area, sliding doors parted and paramedics pushed a gurney through.

  “Peter?” The doctor tried again. “Peter, we’ve contacted your uncle. He’s coming back from London on the next available flight, but he won’t be here until tomorrow.”

  Peter stared vacantly ahead.

  The doctor sucked his lip. He looked over his shoulder. “He’s not responsive.”

  A woman leaned in, her smile a coax. “Peter? I’m Jane Richards from Children’s Services. Doug Petersen’s my partner. We’ll find you a place to stay tonight, until your uncle can see you.”

  Peter said nothing.

  Jane frowned at her colleague. He could only shrug. She turned back. “Peter, do you know if your parents had a will or signed some document that said who would take care of you when your mom and dad … weren’t around?”

  Peter looked away.

  “Surely it doesn’t matter,” said the doctor. “The boy has an uncle!”

  “But no sign of a will,” said Jane. “From what I’ve heard, his uncle is away on business six months out of the year. The rules clearly state who has to care for the child in this case.”

  The doctor glanced at Peter and pulled the social workers back. Not far enough, however; Peter could still hear them.

  “The boy’s lost his parents, for God’s sake. The last thing he needs is to be shuffled from foster home to foster home. When his uncle gets here, he should get custody immediately!”

  “I have to work within the law, doctor,” Jane snapped. “Look, I promise you that Peter will get the best care possible until we can work out this tragic situation. I promise!”

  Peter opened his eyes. Across the hospital waiting room, he saw Fiona, short-haired, distraught, and human, talking with two police officers. One of the officers pointed at Peter. Fiona nodded, and they turned and left.

  She took a step towards him, and stopped, her eyes fixed on his vacant stare. She looked at him a long time across the hospital room as people passed before her and behind. Then her gaze lowered to the floor.

  She turned and slipped into the flow of people. The hospital doors slid shut behind her, cutting her from Peter’s view.

  The conversations blurred and rushed back into the sounds of the surf. Peter blinked at the water. His cheeks were wet again.

  He scrambled to his feet and looked at the world as though he was seeing it for the first time. Ariel stared at him. “Peter?”

  He clambered off the rock, slipped, and fell on the stones. He pushed himself to his feet.

  Ariel slipped off the rock. “Peter!”

  Across the stony beach, people were running to him. Fiona was in the lead, her red hair flowing behind her like a torch. She stopped lightly before him and clasped his hands. “Peter!” she breathed. “It’s time.”

  “Who are you?” Peter mumbled. “Why did you bring me here?”

  A look of horror flashed across Fiona’s face. It blew a shot of clarity into his mind. This was wrong. She was an impostor. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

  But the next instant, Fiona hid her look of horror. She smiled at Peter, her eyes narrowed, and she flicked her hair over her shoulder. He could feel the veil being pulled over his consciousness.

  “No!” He struggled. “I’m not supposed to be —”

  She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. His eyes grew glassy. His hands moved of their own accord to embrace her. Peter could see himself as though his mind had been pulled from his body, and cast out to sea. The waves of Fiona’s smell and her beauty washed over him, swamping him. He struggled to stay afloat.

  Fiona pulled away. “Are you ready?” she asked.

  “Yes.” The voice was not his.

  The other villagers gathered around him, positioning themselves in front of Peter and Ariel. A group of musicians holding bodhrans and primitive stringed instruments started to play a slow, rhythmic processional. The sirens began a wailing chant. Surrounded by the honour guard, Peter and Ariel walked back towards the village.

  Peter’s consciousness floated out to sea.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  INITIATION

  Rosemary peered from behind a stone column at the edge of the siren caves and spotted a group of twelve ethereal sea-women, dressed in Welcome Circle finery, huddled and chattering on the path leading back to the bay. Some were practising their dance steps. Rosemary cast a critical eye at their flowing robes and veils, and looked down at herself. She slipped back into the shadows and adjusted her own clothing, peering out to check that she was dressed properly.

  She took note of their feet and huffed. “They would be barefoot.” She shucked her shoes.

  Finally, she felt ready; scarves covered her finless pink arms, and her skirts billowed in the breeze. With the veil concealing her face below the eyes, it was an effective disguise, but Rosemary decided she didn’t want to chance being recognized until she absolutely had to. So she stayed in hiding, peering out to watch the Welcome Circle wait and practise.

  She frowned as she followed the movement of their feet. “Wait a minute,” she muttered. She mimicked the steps. Heel-toe, heel-toe. “I know these steps!” Heel-toe, twist. “That’s step-dancing!”

  The moves had been modified, danced at half-speed with added arm gestures, but they were still recognizable to the girl who’d spent an agonizing summer jumping in Irish clod-shoes, arms pressed to her sides.

  “Scavengers,” she muttered, shaking her head. Or survivors, she thought, remembering Merius and his “Lost Children” speech. How many of these, she wondered, could trace their history to the shipwrecks in that transitional world? Lots, she thought.

  But there hadn’t been a shipwreck on the Bruce Peninsula for decades.

  How old are these people?

  Then she heard drumbeats in t
he distance and looked up. An honour guard was approaching from the bay, wailing, beating drums, and playing a variety of stringed instruments. As the procession drew nearer, the women of the Welcome Circle stopped chattering and organized themselves into a line. Rosemary waited and, when the women moved out at a silent cue, she darted out of the shadows and brought up the rear.

  As she danced after the Welcome Circle, she glanced up and almost stumbled. Leading the honour guard was Fionarra. Rosemary brought up an arm to hide her face, but Fionarra’s gaze was locked on the parade route. Rosemary was by her in a second, and circling Peter from ten feet away. He was flanked by a young siren and surrounded by marchers. Too many people, Rosemary thought. No room even for a mad dash.

  Before she had a chance to plan, the Welcome Circle surrounded Peter, raising their arms in the air and twirling once. Rosemary barely kept up the movement.

  “Just remember your classes,” she muttered beneath her breath. “Heel-toe, heel-toe, twist.”

  The steps weren’t intricate; nor did the women match each other exactly, which was fortunate. After a minute, Rosemary moved with more confidence, and kept her gaze on Peter and the crowd.

  As the procession wound its way among the stone pillars, sirens emerged from their homes, standing on their turf-covered roofs to cheer Peter. The air shuddered with their cries. Rosemary didn’t see the sirens climbing the rock faces; she only saw them emerge from their caves, or standing above them. She felt like she was in a canyon, sirens lining the rim.

  There were at least two people marching between her and Peter at any given moment. Still no opportunity. She scowled beneath her veil as she mimicked the Welcome Circle’s hand gestures.

  She wondered where Merius was. Then she saw him take up a place along the route, clenching his trident and watching the parade with a critical eye. Rosemary lowered her eyes and tried to will herself invisible.

  Then something pulled Merius’s gaze from the revellers. She looked ahead and saw Fionarra glaring at him from the head of the honour guard. The two remained focussed on each other until Rosemary was safely past.

  The procession wound through the siren village until it doubled back on itself, finally emerging onto the open patch of green. In the middle, built on top of a stone depression, was a wooden stage. The park was lined with celebrants standing in eager but respectful silence. Rosemary wondered where all these people had been less than an hour ago.