The Trewhella Curse

Chapter Two

This is how you get to the Lost Islands.

First you must follow the current, far, far out to sea, to where you cannot see nor smell the faintest shadow of land. Next, you must follow the deep ridges carved into the seabed below, shaped by years of furious tides. You must follow these ridges until the water grows still. The water here is silent- there is no rushing of currents or waves to be heard. The sand lays settled and undisturbed. It is crystal clear here, so bright you can make out in the distance shapes of jellyfish floating by and pods of dolphins soaring past.

If you cast your eyes downward, it is impossible to miss.

The Lost Islands.

Debris is scattered across the seabed, serving as a graveyard of rubble. All Mer are brought here during their childhood, to bear witness to the strength of Ingo. I can still recall when I was first brought here. I remember how I gaped at the crumbled remains of the human settlement. I marvelled that something that once belonged to Air had been claimed by Ingo in a single night.

 All those years ago, I supposed Ingo's power to be insurmountable. It was inconceivable to me that not even the mighty humans had force enough to stop an entire island falling to Ingo's boundaries. That first time I saw the Lost Islands, I did not question Ingo's absolute power.

Today, I approach the long wall that juts out from the settlement, which once staved back the ocean's waves. Hulls of broken boats remain chained to the wall, never to sail again. The houses lay tucked behind the barricade, strung along a winding cobbled path. Wide open cavities stare out of the stonework, like empty, hollowed out eyes. Planks of wood bow out from each houses' threshold, slimy with algae. The buildings' rooves have caved in, grown over with fronds of billowing seaweed.

As I swim past a heap of piled rubble, a school of silver pilchards scatter, weaving in and out of a rusted metal gate.

Whenever I visit the Lost Islands, I like to play a game with myself. I pretend the Islands are still alive, and that I am a human walking up in the dry air. As I do, I envision what the buildings must have looked like before they fell to ruins.

I swim slowly and upright along the cobbled path, as I think a human would walk. I pretend the fish floating above me are birds soaring in a cloudy blue sky. The anemones and feathery branches of seaweed I pretend are the humans' gardens that they tend to. Swimming past stony fronts of houses, I build an entire scene in my head of the humans going about their daily life. If I concentrate hard enough, I can see them upon their two legs, moving in and out of houses, talking to one another, waving, and smiling.

Furrowing my brow, I wonder what it is that humans exactly do all day. They don't have currents to surf or dolphins to ride. Inside the houses, seldom clues remain. Among crumbling brick arches, empty rotting chests and splintered chairs, I cannot see what would have kept them occupied. Faro says humans spend most of their time trying to get money. But they also like to create things, that's what my sister told me. They create art; they draw and paint and sing and make music. It was humans that made these buildings. The Mer would never create anything like this.

Lost in my imaginings, I meander further along the path, before ducking into my favourite building of the Lost Islands. It is constructed of smooth, pale stone, and its monumental spires tower over the settlement. 

Inside, there are burnished pillars soaring up to great lofty ceilings. Soft sandstone has been intricately carved with twisting tangled flora, fanged serpents, and rearing beasts. In the tallest rafters, there are funny little leering faces tucked away among spilling stony leaves. Delicately, I touch the carvings with my fingertips, inspecting the miniscule detail. There are small indents in the stone, where you can see tools have cut and chiselled away. These echoes are the last traces of the hands that created the carvings. The care of craftsmanship strikes me and fills me with a newfound respect for humanity. I marvel at how the humans that built this construction must have laboured to mine stone from deep beneath the earth, and to have taken the time to painstakingly shape it.