Chapter 11: 11 – A Test of Thom’s Powers

When I awaken from dreams I can’t remember, a blackbird is singing on the outside window ledge. I’m so groggy I worry that I might have slept through an entire day, but I check my phone and am relieved to see it’s mid-afternoon. I listen for any noises in the house, but the only sound comes from the blackbird, still singing.

I find Ondine at the kitchen table, concentrating so hard on whatever she’s doing on her laptop that she doesn’t notice me at first. When she does, she smiles at me and in one deft move fills the kettle and switches it on.

“Good sleep?” she asks me.

“I conked right out. How about you?”

“I slept for a couple of hours.” Ondine has chronic insomnia, and sleeps very little.

“Has Elena been back?”

“I haven’t seen her, so I assume she’s still hard at work. She really is amazing, you know. If anyone can help you understand what’s going on, it’s her.”

I nod, wanting to ask Ondine more about how Elena helped her, but she said she’d tell me when she’s ready. After a pause, she says, “I thought we could have a quick snack, and then I’ll take you for a walk around the cliffs, so you can get your bearings.”

“Food and some fresh air sound good.”

A pot of tea and several slices of cheese on toast later, we step outside into full sunshine. There’s a fresh breeze blowing off the sea and, after walking for just a few minutes, I already feel almost fully awake. Elena’s house is just metres away from the coastal path, which is hugged by tall wildflowers on either side.

The coastal path gives way to a gravelled path – a wide slope leading down to the sea, which is suddenly visible in all its glory. Sitting just a short distance out from the mainland is an island which looks golden with the sun shining on the gorse that covers it.

“That's Nester Island, also called Witch Island.”

“Does everything around here have witch in the name?” I ask.

“Colloquially, yes it does. It’s believed that witches have always lived on the island, and that they won’t allow anyone – human or otherwise – to live there.”

“Human or otherwise,” I repeat. “What’s the smaller island called, just behind it?”

“You can see that?”

“Can’t you?”

“Yes, but no one who – never mind. That’s Hallowtide.”

“Just Hallowtide? What’s its colloquial name?”

“There isn’t one. Stop asking questions.”

We walk down the rest of the slope in silence, until we’re on the pebbly beach. The wind whips beads of water into our faces, and we brace ourselves against the force of it. “Invigorating!” I yell. “Perfect beach weather!”

“You’re dealing with the might of the Atlantic, right here,” Ondine yells back. “I thought we’d test your new powers.”

Despite the chilly wind, I feel my forehead and back break out in a sweat. “No thank you. Why don’t we let them rest for today.”

“Come on, Thom. Yesterday it was the calm waters of Loch Dunvegan. See what happens when you try to control these waves.”

I make a series of protests in my head: maybe I can only manipulate water when someone is in danger, or maybe only when small bodies – a.k.a. children or small animals – are involved, or maybe it was all a fluke. “Maybe we should wait to hear what Elena has to say.”

“Thom, it could take her days to find out what you need to know. Do you really want to wait that long to try again?”

Yes, I think. “No, I guess not.” My lips are traitors.

“Try it, and see what happens.”

I raise my hands, splay my fingers, and flick them upwards. I think I see a thin stream of water lift up, and cascade down again. Ondine says nothing, so I try again, a bit further along the horizon. I can definitely feel a change in the air around me, like something is happening, but it’s much less dramatic than what happened yesterday. A bit of an anti-climax, actually.

“Do you feel anything?”

“A bit. Do you?” I ask her.

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“I think I can see a change in the water – just along there,” she says, pointing to the spot I’ve managed to move, if only slightly. “But yesterday when it happened, it was like the air crackled with electricity. I’m not feeling that today, but maybe the wind is too strong, and it’s interfering.”

“I don’t feel it, either.”

“Okay, maybe you need more of a challenge, then. Like some kind of peril.”

She starts to unclasp the silver necklace she always wears. “Ondine – no. Don’t do it.”

“Nan gave me this necklace. It’s the thing I love most in the world.”

It’s off her neck, and her arm is rising in the air. “Ondine, no! I’m not sure if I can do it!”

The sunlight glints off the necklace for just an instant, and then it’s breaking the waves – it’s in the sea and my heart is racing with fear, and anger at her for what she’s just done. I angle my fingers so they are above the spot where the necklace went under, flick them up, and – nothing. I try again and – still nothing. I grunt with exertion, and with frustration. I try again, but still I’m unable to raise the necklace.

“Come on, Thom – focus!” Ondine yells.

Three tries and three grunts later, all I can think about is diving into the sea to try and retrieve her necklace because whatever powers we thought I had have clearly abandoned me.

“Come on, Thom – you can do it. I need you to do it!” she yells.

I want to yell back that I can’t, that she’s wrong about me. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut and do as Ondine says – I focus. I see the thick, grey water, bubbling and churning, crimson ribbons of seaweed spinning like dancers. I follow it as it gets deeper and darker – it’s only water, no other living thing is visible. And then I see it – the silver necklace, floating steadily downwards. I catch it with my fingers, and flick them upwards gently, repeating the motion as I pull the necklace out of the water. My whole arm flicks upward, and I hear Ondine call out.

“Thom – you did it! I see it!”

Eyes still closed, I flick my fingers towards the shore, and hear a quiet popping sound. I open my eyes, and see Ondine’s clasped hand. She opens it, and there in her palm is the silver necklace.

*

Adrenaline still flows through my veins, and I can’t seem to stop talking. Ondine is listening, politely, while she cooks a big pot of pasta. She blitzes a fresh pesto sauce with basil from the pots on Elena’s kitchen window ledge, garlic, nuts and oil. We eat heaped bowls, and then I have a second bowl. When I’m finished eating, Ondine fills a bowl and covers it with foil.

“I bet Elena is lost in her books and hasn’t eaten all day. Let’s take this down the road to her.”

I realize I’d been thinking about the archive as something of a secret, sacred place, when I ask, “Will she mind if I come, too?”

Ondine laughs. “Not at all. You’re the reason she’s down there today, after all. You owe her some carbs.”

It’s early evening, but the sun is still high in the sky, and the air is warm. We walk past several linked houses before coming to a cluster of buildings converted from homes into businesses. There’s a café, a book shop, and several gift shops, all of them fairly upmarket, like they’re aimed at tourists with money to spend.

The last building in the row, however, has no apparent aims to draw any crowds. The windows are in need of a cleaning and the façade needs a new paint job. A thin curtain is drawn across the window, and there’s a hand-written sign taped to the glass that reads:

Ballaig Archive – Visits strictly by appointment.

Ondine knocks on the door and we wait a few minutes before there’s the sound of bolts being unlatched, and Elena is standing in the entrance, smiling at us.

“You remembered the secret knock!”

“We come bearing pasta.”

“You read my mind. I was just thinking I could do with a break and something to eat. Come in, and I’ll put the kettle on.”

She steps aside and waves us into the dimly-lit, musty-smelling space. The wooden floorboards creak under my feet as I take a few steps around the room, which is full of floor-to-ceiling bookcases, stuffed full of books.

“Every room in this place is the same, upstairs as well as down,” Ondine tells me.

“Welcome to my archive,” Elena says. She clears some space on the long rectangular table that’s in the centre of the room, and wipes her hand across the wooden chairs. Puffs of dust rise in the air. “You’ll have to excuse the dust. I don’t get many visitors here.”

Ondine goes through to the back, and I hear water running and the sound of cups being washed. She calls through, “Have you found anything interesting?”

“It’s been a mostly frustrating day,” Elena says, her sharp blue eyes boring into me. “But I’ve just had a bit of a breakthrough. I think I might have found your origin story.”

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