Legend of the Lost Read online

  “I am so pleased to see you, sister. I was just about to come looking.”

  Holly could see Savannah’s battle scars healing as she spoke, the cave and pool working their wonders.

  “I see you’ve discovered more today than just the watching wild ones,” she said gently, gesturing towards Holly’s wings.

  Almost as if embarrassed, Holly landed and she rapidly changed back to the girl she was used to, in the batting of an eye.

  “It seems there’s quite a lot you haven’t told me,” she grunted, almost grumpy, as if the not knowing was the real issue and not the inexplicable magic.

  But soon they were both sitting side by side, sipping a warming sea tea Savannah prepared from an oddly delicious seaweed infusion, warmed by a spring she hadn’t yet noticed, which bubbled and slightly steamed.

  “That water comes straight off the Fireills, which run half the length of the country and also a very long way under the sea.

  “Those hills are responsible for bringing thunder and rain on land and warming the sea to bring food for the sea creatures.

  “But you should see the odd life that spawns near the gaseous outlets,” Savannah explained. “Comes in useful for warming drinks too.”

  “Tell me,” said Holly. “When did you know that I had… you know… special… powers?”

  “Couldn’t you feel the connection between us when we first met?” asked Savannah.

  “I knew when you saved me from drowning that you were my sister, the dark-haired, headstrong, clever one in the fisherman’s tales.

  “All was confirmed for me when I found you with the Moonstone and when I listened to you talking in your sleep when you were taken ill.”

  “But I had a fever.”

  “Yes, but when you spoke, you also spoke in the ancient faerie tongue, a language impossible to make up, to fake or to disguise.”

  “But how do you know?” Holly blurted struggling to get her head around what she was saying.

  “Well, Holly, can’t you tell? Why, we’re speaking it right now.”

  It was only when she forced herself to slow down, to measure each word and to make the effort to think again in English, that she confirmed for herself that, yes indeed, when she and Savannah spoke like this, not only was she talking in that magical language but she was thinking in it as well.

  Right now, what both girls were thinking was that they needed to start finding some answers that would make recent events start making some sense.

  They had clearly run out of clues. Now the answers they were seeking were going to have to be uncovered in the riddle of the legend on the cave walls.

  Time and tide, as the saying goes, wait for no-one.

  So, while the sisters were lost in their thoughts, they hadn’t noticed that the weather had changed much for the worse.

  A hurricane had blown itself off course and now trespassed on the British Isles, their little island in the North Sea.

  As the storm came up and over parts of Africa it carried part of a great desert with it, throwing orange sand into the air that momentarily turned the sky a misty russet hue.

  All faerie folk and fisherfolk knew this for a bad omen.

  The last time it had happened, the storms raged for two weeks, nearly starving and bankrupting the poor villagers of Mousehole, Helston, Porthleven and Coverack, for no boats could set to sea for fear of drowning in the waves or getting lost as no stars could guide them.

  Holly was the first to notice her skirt becoming wet as the dry patch of the sand in the cave started to disappear.

  “I haven’t seen it like this before,” said Savannah, clearly concerned. “Wait for me here, Holly. Don’t try to fly out as the mouth of the cave will be blocked by now.”

  Sure enough, when Holly pulled back the stringy seaweed and seagrass inner curtain, she couldn’t see any daylight at the mouth of the cave any longer. It was lit solely by the light given off by the pool and the enchanted sea shell lanterns surrounding it.

  By the time Holly had examined the deepest recesses of the cave for any possible alternative way out (she wasn’t the sort of girl just to take “can’t” for an answer), Savannah was resurfacing, a string of seaweed in her hand. She gestured for Holly to join her in the water.

  “This is a string of mimnr, or what the villagers call mermaid’s purses”

  “I know,” said Holly, puzzled.

  “Well, what you won’t know is that each capsule contains a dogfish egg. When you change to Holly faerie form, each one of these will enable you to breathe, with me, under the water, for around ten mermaid minutes.”

  “Really?” said Holly, looking a little apprehensive at putting that string of slime anywhere near her mouth. “Well, best give it a try then.”

  “Open wide and follow me,” gestured Savannah, placing the first capsule in Holly’s mouth as she pressed the clasp on the robe.

  The taste was surprisingly pleasant, like a toasted fishfinger sandwich but with a little too much salt.

  Under the water it wasn’t quite as calm as she had expected. Looking up towards the pale turquoise light, she could see the impact of the waves crashing and how the small fry and debris were thrown back and forth as if in some sort of demented tumble dryer.

  At first she was expecting to resurface pretty quickly. But she soon found that her wings worked surprisingly well under water and, while she couldn’t match her sister for speed, she was no sea snail either.

  Savannah, who was majestic like a bejewelled dolphin under water, smiled reassuringly and, to Holly’s great surprise, spoke, her voice tickling at first, as it appeared straight inside her ear as it couldn’t carry through the water.

  “As we’re here together at last, I want to show you something special,” she said, which Holly thought was an odd turn of phrase as, right now, everything was so special.

  To the left of her, a line of lobsters was marching on the rocky seabed, heading somewhere with very serious intent.

  To the right of her, cuttlefish pulsed, changing colours like neon traffic lights as they danced between fronds of waving seagrass.

  They were pursued by a school of large, grey fish with supper in mind but struggling with the magical camouflage.

  Then, in a small, dark cave, two white globes threatened to betray an octopus or perhaps a long and cable-bodied eel, lying in wait for either party to stray close enough.

  Savannah was leading them expertly along the long ridge of rock, heading steadily further down until Holly felt a lump rise between her lips and into her mouth and start wriggling about. She realised it was the dogfish hatchling, so opened her teeth and then lips and watched it swim off for cover, casting the suspicion of a dirty look back at her as she positioned the next in the chain between her lips and started breathing freely again.

  The current was with them as they swam and soon Savannah was slowing down at what, at first, looked like a large outcrop of granite or similar rocks.

  When they got closer, however, Holly could see what looked like a large ship’s wheel and fossilised wooden barrels on what was clearly an ancient deck and, near the bow, a distinctive bronze plate with a still-visible name:

  ROMANY SOUL

  Her jaw dropped and she was so stunned that she nearly swallowed her breathing aid.

  For, if she wasn’t mistaken, this was the very same ship that formed the centre piece of the legend in Savannah’s cave.

  Then that could only mean one thing.

  Even though they couldn’t be further away in this strange place, the sisters were closer to unlocking the mystery of their real home than they had probably ever been.

  While Holly blinked in awe and wonder, Savannah had swum down to the hull of the ship, where several planks had clearly impacted with something hard, doubtless the cause of the wreck. Where they split, however, also provided an e
asy way in and she called Holly to join her.

  Fluttering through the water on her glittering wings, purple-tinged under the sea water, Holly glided through the gap and was surprised to see her sister climbing into what must have once been the captain’s cabin.

  Somehow, an air bubble had become trapped here and was replenished by a small stream of oxygen-laced and perfectly breathable air bubbling out from the seabed.

  So Holly carefully opened her mouth and let the second dogfish hatchling swim off, its job done.

  “The hills don’t just breathe fire,” Savannah smiled. “Now allow me to show you the true crowning glory.”

  Her voice had gone up a pitch or two, she was so excited.

  She lifted the large oak lid of what looked like a chest but probably doubled as a bunk. Reaching inside she came out with a chest within the chest inscribed with a very ornate letter T in an ancient and unfamiliar font.

  From a shell purse about her waist, she removed a glittering key and used this to open the smaller chest.

  She then, ceremoniously, lifted two items from the chest and presented them to Holly on her outstretched palms.

  Holly recognised the largest item immediately. It was the legendary pendant necklace to which their Moonstone belonged, the empty space flanked by a diving dolphin in mother of pearl and a horned seahorse, rampant.

  It was surprisingly light for something containing so much precious metal and intricate carving.

  When she held it up to the seashell lamps that Savannah had lit for them to guide their way even under water, it radiated a prism of the brightest of light. It wasn’t just returning what was shone on it but seemed to have its own inner light source.

  Savannah then handed her sister the other item, a ring of darkest obsidian serpentine rock, found only in Cornish waters. Coming from the Culm Measures, a magical ridge of stone, serpentine was rumoured to contain great power.

  This ring had been fashioned by very skilled hands into the shape of a Cornish raven in mid-flight. Tiny emeralds were set into the sockets of its eyes and the natural veins of the rock formation gave definition to the wings, creating the illusion of movement, of flight.

  “This must be the black bird in the picture on your wall,” Holly announced, in an excited voice.

  But the sound of a stranger answered back.

  “That may well be missy, but this ship is our prahperty makin that there oard ours.

  “Unless you wantses somethin nasty to appen ere, I suggest you hands er over.”

  Savannah blamed herself for them being caught completely unawares.

  She had become so excited at the prospect of sharing her find with her sister, finally able to start connecting some of the pieces of the great puzzle, that it had dulled her other senses and she had let her guard down, for once.

  To be fair to her, nobody could have anticipated that Sea Gypsy Pirates would find the wreck so far off shore, or would have mastered the ancient arts of breathing under water, known to none but the faerie folk.

  It was then that she noticed the miniature oxygen tanks and rubber fins that they had clearly removed to slip through the hole in the hull undetected. At least that put one magical mystery to rest.

  Somehow, they must have been watching them.

  “Royt bitta luck it waz spotting yer lights n bubbles over here,” said the leader of the group of four, who spoke with a strange accent, a sort of blend of rural farmer, rough Irish brogue and auld English Brummie.

  “Ad Ziggy not made a wrong turn on account o’ the storm stirrin up the seabed, we mayz never a sithee.”

  “Look, we aren’t looking to cause anyone any trouble,” started Holly. She could feel her ears starting to burn with determination and anger bubbling up, but she fought hard to keep in control.

  Savannah was pleased that both girls had taken on their full human form while exploring the wreck.

  “We don’t even know who you are,” said Holly. “Sorry if we’ve caused some sort of offence but…”

  She was interrupted, however, by the youngest and smallest of the men, the one with a long scar on his cheek, staring at her and pointing at a picture Holly had not yet had time to notice fully in all the excitement since arriving.

  “’tis her and ’tis them, oy swear ’tis.”

  He was waving his arm between the painting and the girls until the leader moved closer to the picture with his snap lantern.

  He held it up and, yes, sure enough, there in the group of two adults and four children were two of the girls.

  They were dressed very differently in the family portrait. But, drawn to their fine, chiselled features, heart-shaped faces, one with hair the colour of milk opal and the other like serpentine itself, there was no mistaking their likeness, no mistaking it at all.

  “The children of the storm,” he mouthed, as if he had seen a living ghost.

  For perhaps that is, indeed, what he was staring at in that mystical place, beneath the waves.

  By the time they surfaced, back on the beach, the current storm had blown over and the attitude of the Gypsy Pirates had changed like the weather.

  Gifted a bag of old gold from the chest and a trinket or two each, they couldn’t do enough for the sisters. In fact, they were bowing and scraping quite comically at times, appearing completely in awe of them both, which may have had something to do with witnessing their transformation into magical form to swim back up.

  Nelson, their charismatic leader, handsome in the black boots, trousers and striped top he had changed into, seemed particularly taken by Savannah. She clearly wasn’t oblivious to his charms either.

  Holly was more than a little irritated by the sudden intrusion into their private mystery. But she too had to admit that it was a relief to have allies, of sorts, now. Especially when they discovered what surprises Nelson had in store.

  As they sat around their cave campfire that twilight, faces glowing and highlighted by the crackling flames, the men took turns to recall and recount the myths and legends that surrounded the girls’ family.

  Much backed up the stories they already knew but they also learned that the Sea Gypsy clan were the remains of the loyal Cornish workforce of their father, Lord James Trelgathwin.

  “He was descended from what was believed to be the original nomadic Celtish settlers in Cornwall,” said Ziggy, in a hushed tone. “It was a land so tough and brutal at that time that only the strongest, bravest and wisest survived.

  “Yet James had not only survived, but had met and married a beautiful wife, Elouisa.

  “She was the sole child of a mysterious, some say wretched woman who, otherwise, lived alone in the woods.

  “Her mother was believed to possess strange and dark powers. She, it is said, could even heal the desperately sick and restore the weak, if the price was right and she was so inclined.

  “But, fearing she would be abandoned by her daughter, the mother did not approve of their marriage. She banished her daughter from her sight for betraying her and spent many years living a solitary existence in the dark woods.

  “They never saw her and focused all they could on cultivating their land and growing their fleet of handsome, red-sailed fishing ships so that all would prosper.

  “The settlement indeed thrived and became a village and they were blessed with children, four girls each so alike but unique in their own part.

  “Then, one dark spring night, quite without warning, Elouisa’s estranged mother, otherwise forgotten, wandered into their settlement, the small fishing village now known as Mousehole.

  “She had never ventured from the woods before and her arrival caused the villagers, a suspicious and cautious people by nature, great alarm. They hid and shuttered their windows, barred their doors and sent their children to bed.

  “The now-elderly woman was still beautiful but there was something dar
k about her face, hiding behind her eyes.

  “She first made her way through the corn fields before stepping aboard a small fishing boat, which, it is said, without aid of either sail, wind or oar glided slowly to the mouth of the port our ancestors had worked so hard to build as a shelter from the worst of the weather.

  “There, without dropping anchor, she came to a rest and waited. She remained there for many days, although it was hard to judge days as the sun did not break clear of the clouds that whole time. While she waited the tide did not ebb nor did it flood.

  “After the first few days, the crops in the fields began to fail, turned brown, then black, then dropped, with their disease, into the soil.

  “When the villagers became brave enough to venture out to vent their frustration, the fishermen would not launch their boats for fear of the dark shape at the mouth of the harbour and the strange behaviour of the sea, which they believed to be cursed.

  “Elouisa and James took their own boat out to see her mother. But when they arrived they found nothing but a heap of black rags suspended from the mainsail beam, and a note.

  “This simply read:

  Now return what you have stolen

  to the powers that be

  lest thou suffer for ever

  the worst of me.

  Then nowt but savage shall thy fate see.

  “James was furious and before the onlooking villagers, in a rare fit of rage, burned the boat and everything in it.

  “But from that night and for every night onward, the worst sea storm ever blew in, clouds arriving like feral black cats to haunt and harass the modest folk of Mousehole.

  “No ships could be launched and many a great sailor died trying in vain, including some of our ancestors.

  “James even took his best men and tried a jump launch from the harbour wall. But they all but drowned were it not for the safety lines.

  “Mousehole was now completely cut off from other villages by the treacherous weather in the valley.

  “What with the failed crops and no fish to be had, people survived on rock limpets, mussels, shore crabs and whatever they could scavenge.