Chapter 5: Journey’s End
The storm seemed to come out of nowhere. It came at
Grace and Connor just when they were at their most
vulnerable, out beyond the harbour in the open ocean.
It didn’t give them a chance.
The sky changed colour so fast, it was as if someone had
ripped away a sheet of blue wallpaper to reveal a gaping
black hole. The heat from the sun vanished in an instant
and the rain came down in hard pellets of water that
burned and froze them in the same instant.
The water roiled beneath them, like a bucking bronco
trying to throw its rider. The boat clung onto the waves,
and Grace and Connor clung onto the boat, their
harnesses offering little reassurance. What good was it
being tied to a boat when at any moment the sea
might slice their vessel in two or crush it in its rough,
salty fist?
“We shouldn’t have done this,” Connor cried. “It was a
stupid idea.”
“No,” shouted Grace, above of the roar of the water.
“What choice did we have?”
“We’re going to die!”
“We’re not dead yet!”
Were those tears rolling down Connor’s cheek, or was it
the saltwater stinging his eyes? Grace found it impossible
to tell. She thought of their father. What would he have
done?
“I’ll tell you a tale of Vampirates,” she sang, bravely, “A
tale as old as true.”
Connor grasped this crumb of comfort and joined in.
The two of them were still singing as the boat spun over
and the guard rail snapped in two.
The twins were thrown apart and down, down into the
freezing, churning water.
Filled with a strange calm, Connor watched pieces of the
boat sink past him down into the darker water below. A
strange catalogue of cups and cutlery and books twirled
past him. He reached a hand out towards them and
watched them dance away. He smiled. Beneath the surface
of the water it was calm, a safe haven from the storm that
raged above. It was tempting to stay here, and drift with
the other broken pieces of his world. This might be a good
way to die.
No, he had to find Grace! He tore himself from his
trance and with every fibre of his body, pushed upwards
through the water. It was hard and it was painful, and it
was all he could do not to let go, open himself to the water
and sink back down into the darkness.
But Connor was strong and now he used all his strength
to fight the shower of shrapnel hurtling towards him as he
neared the wreckage of the boat. He burst through the
surface, waves lashing him at every turn. Swallowing salty
water and retching, he looked desperately around, searching
for something buoyant to grab onto. And for his sister.
Connor’s saviour turned out to be a piece of seating. He
gripped its jagged edges tightly, pulling himself up onto
the plank of wood as if it was a surfboard. It was an
enormous effort and his hands were bleeding. The
churning saltwater added to his pain. But Connor took a
gulp of air and realised he had done it. He was alive.
But where was Grace?
The storm was still raging, but quieter now. Connor
scanned the bubbling water, looking for his sister’s face
amid the debris. She wasn’t there. Gaining control of the
makeshift surfboard, he moved through the water, looking
for any sign of her. There was none.
The sea grew calmer but it was becoming harder and
harder to see more than a metre or so ahead of him.
Connor realised that a mist was settling. It grew thicker,
enclosing him in his own personal cloud. No! Now he
would never find her. He flapped his hands around him,
trying to push the mist away, but all this did was to
unbalance him. He brought his hands back down to the
float and, defeated, let his head fall onto its surface. What
was the point? If Grace was gone, there was nothing for
him. He might as well slip from the float and dive back
down into the water. At least they’d be together then.
Connor lost track of how long he drifted for. It seemed an
eternity, but it might have been only a few seconds,
stretched out of all recognition through despair and
fatigue. Now, the mist was thinning. Through it, he could
see the shadow of a ship. It was faint, but he could not miss
the outline. It was like an old galleon. He’d only seen such
things in books and as a model at the Maritime Museum.
He must be imagining it – hallucinating, as death
approached.
But no, it was a ship. As the mist began to lift, he could
see it quite clearly – turning in the water. Why was it
changing direction in the middle of the ocean? Unless it
was stopping for some reason. Perhaps it had come to
rescue him?
Buoyed by the thought, he used his remaining strength
to wave his arms in the air and cry out hoarsely.
“Over here! Over here!”
The ship continued to turn. But it wasn’t coming for
him. He could see no one on board. No one had seen him.
The mist had lifted to the level of the deck. As the ship
completed its turn, a soft golden light fell upon the ship’s
figurehead – a young woman. If only she were a real
woman instead of a painted sculpture. Her piercing eyes
seemed to watch him but, of course, they were nothing
more than daubs of paint on wood.
Connor was at a loss what to do as the ship began to
move off into the distance. As it sailed away, he made out
sails quite unlike any he had ever seen. They were like
wings, glimmering with thin veins of light.
“Hey!” Connor called again. “Help!”
But his voice was weak and the ship was already much
too far away. All he could make out was the dark silhouette
of its strange, tattered sails. They seemed to flap gently as
the ship made its way. It seemed as if, rather than sailing
through the rough ocean, the ship was merely skimming
the surface, unaffected by the strong currents. His mind
must be playing tricks.
It just didn’t make sense. His body felt dull and heavy
and now it seemed that his mind was losing the fight too.
Grace was gone.The ship that might have rescued himhad
sailed away. The only option open to him now was to give
up and join his sister in her watery grave.
His reverie was broken by a voice at his side.
“Here, grab my arm. You’re safe now.”