The Hidden World

Chapter 17

All was darkness and confusion. Maeve tried to yell, but got a mouthful of seawater. She was being dragged down into the surf. She could not see the faces of her attackers, but felt the grip of their heatless hands on her limbs. She still did not know who was trying to drown her, but in the back of her mind, behind the immediate terror and desperation, she feared the Fomori.

She felt something being forced over her head as she raised her face above the water, gasping for breath. Some kind of cloth cap or hood. Again her head was forced beneath the water, and again she flailed wildly at her attackers. It took her a moment to realize that, though once more underwater, she was not drowning.

She could breathe.

The water was all around her, but it no longer flowed into her mouth and nostrils. She was breathing normally, as though she were in air. And the deathly chill had gone from the water too—-it now felt merely cool.  In her surprise, she stopped struggling. At once, cords were slipped around her wrists and ankles, drawing them together: soft, slimy cords that made her think of seaweed. Her eyes, no longer stinging with salt, peered into watery darkness. Her captors were dragging her along by the cords, pulling her down into the deeps with them.

Exhaustion overcame her, and she lost consciousness.

When she came to again, she was no longer underwater. The cap, or whatever it was her assailants had forced onto her head, had been removed. She lay on a floor of cold stone. Thomas was lying beside her, his eyes closed and his wet hair slicked across his face. He was very pale, but she saw his sides heaving and knew that he lived.

Her own clothes were wet, and she shivered. They were, she saw now, in a vast stone chamber. Pillars of white marble supported the vaults of the roof, which was intricately carved with floral medallions and garlands interspersed with the figures of people and animals. It was badly damaged, though: large, ragged patches of rough stone sprawled where carvings had crumbled and fallen. A globe-shaped lamp suspended from the ceiling gave a cold, pearly light.  A tall, square window in the far wall showed only darkness.

Maeve sat up—and saw that she and Thomas were not alone. At the far end of the room was a throne, also of white marble, and on it sat a woman, while several other figures stood to either side. Like the Fomori, these people were deathly pale, but they had another peculiarity: their hair was a dull, metallic green in colour. Next to a normal human face it would have looked startling, but somehow it suited their unnatural pallor. The hair of the throned woman was long, and was crowned by a silver circlet. Her gown was a simple sheath of silver white, glittering like the belly scales of a fish; a belt of scallop shells clasped her slender waist, and her feet were bare. Beside her throne there lay a large animal that Maeve took at first for a massive broad-faced dog, a Newfoundland dog, perhaps. Then she saw that it was a huge seal, longer than a man is tall and slate-coloured with pale-grey blotches on its neck and flanks. It fixed its great dark eyes on her, but remained motionless and made no sound.

The crowned woman spoke in a toneless voice. "You wear the garb of the killers of seals, whom we hate," she said, "and for such we took you. But then we found that beneath the red clay your faces were fair. Who are you?"

"Please," said Maeve, struggling to her feet. Beside her, Thomas coughed and stirred into wakefulness. "We've come from Temair. We have to get to Hy-Bresail. Please let us go."

The pale people were silent. In the cold glow of the lamp, the scene was dreamlike and unreal, the figures scarcely human.

"Where are we?" asked Thomas huskily, sitting up.