Ringlet and the Day the Oceans Stopped

By Felicity Williams

An eleven-year-old mergirl has better things to do than save the oceans from deadly stagnation. Except there's no one else. And worse still, something monstrous is hellbent on stopping her. It's Ringlet against time and tides … and there's not much left of either.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ahoy
• Release date: Jul 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9780995123304

Book preview

The Legend

When the world began there was water everywhere, and the name of the water was Mer-Stella-Tail-That-Has-No-Ending.

Mer-Stella-Tail-

That-Has-No-Ending, because of the vastness of her, was barely able to move. Her job was to wait, curled around the earth, while life evolved. She waited through the bacteria, through the algae, until eventually after millions of years the fish arrived. And as she waited she shrank herself little by little to make room for the dry lands and their creatures.

All Mer-Stella-Tail-That-Has-No-Ending had were her thoughts to keep her company, and at first that was enough. Over eons her thoughts became more and more powerful. She discovered that she could move herself with her thinking, and influence the way she flowed. Many a happy century was spent creating currents, experimenting with the speed and height of waterfalls, and – what she took the most pride in – the creation of huge spumescent sculptures. But everything wears thin, and there was still a long time with nothing to do, so she found a mate and, in due course, hatched a merling. She thought the child would amuse her, but no: the merling was too demanding, too here-there-and-everywhere. It would not obey her as water did. She couldn’t wait to be free of it.

Mer-Stella-Tail-That-Has-No-Ending squeezed foam and sand together and created a long ribbon of rippling water that surged from the palm of her hand to her daughter’s tail, so she would always know where the child was, and if she needed to a short tug of her wrist would bring her back.

The daughter loved this frill, loved the way it reflected the light from the Upworlds, loved the way it danced and twisted behind her. And, mostly, she behaved.

Mer-Stella-Tail-That-Has-No-Ending hatched more daughters, along with the occasional son, and made each of them a frill. Most of the merlings were ordinary mermaids, but some had inherited their mother’s powers to varying degrees and, as they grew, they found that they could manipulate the waters as she did.

These were known as the Stella Mermaids, and in all there were seven. Considered too powerful to inhabit the same watery kingdoms without unleashing chaos, the seven Stella Mermaids were nonetheless aware of each other’s existence. They remained mysterious, however, and some were even a mystery to themselves, having not yet come into their powers.

One of the seven disliked how the frill tugged at her, tethered her, towed her back into line, and she found a way to free herself from the great mother, Mer-Stella-Tail-That-Has-No-Ending. When she was free, she cared for nothing but herself.

And this is why the oceans are never the same from day to day. When the daughters of Mer-Stella-Tail-That-Has-No-Ending are happy, the waters are restless, sparkling and playful. When her daughters do not please her, there are violent storms, and rivers break their banks, as she yanks on the frill that connects them to her. Finally, when the oceans are dreadful and becalmed, it is because of the one who broke the bond of love, and who – because there is no mother to caution her – lives a life without conscience or kindness.

The Fading

1

Things happen and directions change

Ringlet blamed the squid.

Mer Spirulina, waving around her broken baton, blamed Ringlet, saying that never in her twenty years of conducting the Great Choir of Mermelodia had anyone ever managed to break all of the rules, and all at once.

It had started with Platinum singing exquisitely, as she always did, and the others all bobbing gently in the current waiting their turn, faces shining and hopeful, coiffed hair soft in the sea light, and then from nowhere there was a shell-splitting noise, and before Mer Spirulina knew it, her beautiful baton was in two pieces and the mermaids were screaming hysterically – their hair no longer proudly and perfectly styled in the usual blondes and blues, reds and browns but disgusting, sticky vomit-green messes. And a stinkiferous smell was filling the shellorium causing everyone to gag.

Worst of all she, Mer Spirulina, was as bald as a bunion. And Ringlet was to blame. There was no doubt in Mer Spirulina’s mind.

‘You must leave,’ she screeched, ‘and leave im­mediately. And take that wretched creature with you – what’s he doing here anyway? Look what you’ve done to my choir. Euphonious to cacophonous in one fell swoop!’

Ringlet didn’t want to look. She could hear and smell and that was bad enough. The mermaids were shouting now.

‘Who did this?’

‘It’s a catastrophe.’

‘What a mean trick.’

‘Wait till I find out … you’ll be sorry.’

And Frizz shoved Bangs and Bangs threw up on Puff’s tail and Puff pointed at Ringlet.

‘You, up the front, it’s your fault.’

‘Your fault your fault your fault,’ said the mermaids, who were always happiest doing things in unison.

‘No, no,’ said Ringlet, who tried to make herself heard above the din. ‘It wasn’t my fault, not really. I was just being friendly, or at least trying to. The squid …’

But Mer Spirulina did not hear or care to. She was at the height of her formidable oratory powers and there was no stopping her.

‘By Stella,’ she said, her voice crescendoing in a throaty roar, ‘do not return until you’ve found another baton. To replace this … irreplaceable …’

‘Twig,’ said Ringlet. ‘It’s just a twig, isn’t it? It can’t be that hard to replace.’

‘Priceless antique, handed down through generations of grandmothers.’

Mer Spirulina ran her hand over her bald head, gave a peculiar little sob and then, more peculiarly, seemed to deflate. She couldn’t even raise her eyes to look at the mermaid hovering in front of her.

‘I was trying to help,’ said Ringlet in a tiny voice. ‘And anyway, whoever made the rule that says squids aren’t allowed …’

Mer Spirulina, still deflating, did not answer, so in full view of hundreds of glaring green-haired mermaids – including the divinely beautiful once-was Platinum in the front row – Ringlet gathered up the squid, gave her tail a defiant flick, swam down the central aisle of the crystalline dome where the daily choir practice took place, grabbed Iskee from the doggy day-care in the foyer and skedaddled.

She hovered in the deep waters by the Great Gates of the Kelplands. The squid had long since gone. That stupid squibby squid, she thought. If only I’d known.

Iskee started wriggling in her arms. Ringlet stroked his soft ears and scratched the happy spot between them that the merdog couldn’t get to.

‘Promise you’ll be my friend forever?’ she whispered in one soft ear.

Iskee leaned against her and she closed her eyes. She felt the itchy tickle of his tongue on her cheek.

Ringlet giggled. ‘Enough. Let’s go and find this baton. We need to look on the bright side. It might even be an adventure.’

Iskee shook his tail. Go. Bright side. Adventure. A new game. Fine with me.

Ringlet tightened her grasp on him. The Number Three Current seemed to shudder every now and then. It was off-putting. So were the solemn faces of the Stella Mermaids that were engraved on the wrought iron gates and staring right at her.

‘Eye-wise,’ Mer Straba used to tell them in class till they were sick of hearing it. 'Those Stella Mermaids see everything. Ignore them at your peril. Let them inspire you.’ Not if I can help it, thought Ringlet. Let them mind their own business.

The Number Three Current shuddered again. This time it wasn’t off-putting, it was … as if the current wanted to take her somewhere. And wherever that somewhere was, it had to be better than here. Ringlet stretched out her tail, slid onto the Number Three, and let it take her and Iskee out of the Kelplands.

Mister Glowstick cleared his throat. Proud to call the Glimmerings home, today he would address his fellow jellyfish, the whole stuck of them. The Glimmerings, a deep, secretive part of Oceania that few seafolk ever visited – or even knew about, for that matter – had been home to the entire stuck of jellyfish for centuries. It was idyllic: sheltered from storms, consistent in temperature, and it had three currents that delivered three meals each day. Perfect in every way. Except it wasn’t anymore.

Three meals a day had dwindled to one if you were lucky and the currents had lost all sense of … restlessness. Restlessness. He didn’t dare say the word out loud. It was far too complicated for a species that – and he never said this out loud either – did not have a brain.

Mister Glowstick didn’t have one either, but for some reason (he was probably an evolutionary freak) he was able to think. Simple one-syllable thoughts. He wasn’t sure how useful thinking was. Thinking made life more complicated than it needed to be. What’s more, restlessness was a three-syllable word. It had taken days to work out the meaning. Flap. Whirl. Move. Yes. Move. That was it. All needs to move. Us as well. He cleared his throat again.

‘If all you. Would like. Queue. Straight. One row.’ He stopped. A little wave of panic was sweeping through the stuck. Lining up single file was plainly beyond them.

‘Come,’ he said. ‘I lead. Need not scared. Find place. New. Food. Heaps. And sing-song. As we go. To stop the sad. Make us joy. No time waste.’

In this way Mister Glowstick and the stuck left the Glimmerings and thus began the Great Jellyfish Migration.

Here are the oceans, vast and beautiful, extending forever on all sides. And through them swims Ringlet, the Number Three Current carrying her along as the Great Gates of the Kelplands fade from view. How quickly things had changed. There had been an incident – she would not use the word catastrophe, a word that she had heard someone shout out at the shellorium – and as a result of that incident, she was travelling without any idea where she was headed, and neither did she care.

Her eyes were bright and curious. Her purple tail was uncommon, but not so uncommon that folks thought her odd. Her hair, now green, had once been sandspit brown. A handbag was slung across her shoulder – made of two bleached clamshells and trimmed with twines of sea blossom, it was useful for all sorts of things. Right at this moment her merdog was stuffed into it. Losing friends was regrettable but losing Iskee would be unthinkable, and she had to hang on to him.

Up ahead a stuck of jellyfish came into view. Ringlet scrunched the handbag under her arm and kept swimming. She didn’t want to risk him being swept away and she could tell he was mesmerised by the pulsations the jellyfish were making. ‘No, they do not want to play fetch,’ she said in a firm voice.

Sunlight scattered down from the Upworlds and turned everything golden. As the current widened she saw a plank coming towards her. It was being steered by a young merman, dark-skinned and muscular, and it was piled high with slabs and pens.

‘Inter-ocean couriers at your service,’ said the rider, gliding to a halt. ‘Hey, can you give me directions?’ He tried not to fall off the plank as the Number Three juddered beneath him. ‘To the Kelplands?’

‘Just keep going,’ she said. ‘It’s not far.’

‘Don’t suppose you’d be interested in signing up for this year’s Mermaid Diva?’ said the merman. He gave her a hopeful glance. ‘Auditions start next week. It’s going to be so much fun.’

‘Fun?’ she said. ‘Really?’

‘Could be the beginning of great things for you. Propel you into a stunning inter-ocean career!’ And when she did not reply, ‘Kick-start your future! And there’s a free pen for everyone who –’

‘I don’t sing,’ she said. ‘Does that matter?’

‘Of course not.’ The merman felt himself warming into the sales pitch. ‘We’re committed to equal opportunity. You’ll be doing your bit. Did you have a colour preference? For the pen?’

‘Green’s in fashion at the moment,’ she paused. ‘So is bald.’

‘Huh?’ He flashed a puzzled look. ‘Not got either of those. How about metallic gold?’ He reached behind him. ‘Limited edition.’

Ringlet stared at the pen. As giveaways went, she would have preferred something to eat. The pen glinted at her beguilingly.

‘Thanks,’ she said.

‘Leave the application here when you’ve finished,’ said the merman, handing her a slab before she could change her mind. ‘I’ll pick it up on the way back. And like I said, you can keep the pen. A new type of permanent marker we’re trialling – 100% resistant to water, fading and abrasion. Works on all surfaces. Even,’ – here the courier-mer smacked his closed right fist into his palm – ‘compacted sand. Although I don’t see how useful that’s going to be.’

He smiled because he was one slab and one pen lighter and, having practised the sales pitch, found it easier than expected. And Ringlet smiled back, because the slab and the giveaway gold metallic 100%-resistant-to-everything pen provided a distraction from the – she gave in and said the word – catastrophe.

Ringlet continued on, and before long she came to an overhang of craggy rock which held a small dimly lit shrine. It was one of many such shrines dotted throughout the oceans, places where merfolk could safely pause in their travels. At the entrance, a single sentinel fish kept watch. To the right of the overhang there was a comfortable-looking sandy ledge. After a hurried curtsy to whichever Stella Mermaid the shrine honoured, she nestled on the ledge, took up the slab and started to write.

Application for Mermaid Diva

Publicity materials remain the property of Mermaid Diva Ltd and can be used freely and without limitation as Mermaid Diva Ltd sees fit.

Name: Ringlet

Age: Eleven

Describe your home: The Kelplands. To the right of Pink Current Lane and behind the Syphon Streams. Owing to unfair unfortunate unforeseen circumstances a catastrophe, I have left temporarily.

List three interesting things about yourself 

Interesting thing one: I was the youngest ever to swim the storm-currents by myself, because I have an extremely flexible tail. Which meant I was also the youngest ever to be without a mother. She didn’t even say goodbye – whoosh, she was gone. I knew that it would happen, just not quite that soon, and not quite that fast. You feel a bit miserable for maybe a minute, but you’ve got your puppy, so you’re pretty busy chasing each other around and learning tricks. You don’t ever forget your mother, but you learn to manage.

Interesting thing two: I can swim backwards on account of the extremely flexible tail. Other mermaids have asked me to teach them how to do it (swim backwards), and I did demonstrate it, lots of times. They drew pictures, made graphs, even had an inter-sea conference about it, but they couldn’t manage it. After Nits went tail-first inside a hollowed-out tree trunk (copying me – I tried to warn her) and got stuck and had to be winched out by a school of string fish, they decided backwards swimming was more trouble than it was worth and lost interest.

Interesting thing three: a) I have the largest and best collection of sequinned crustaceans. b) I am also very good at games, particularly Barnacle Biff.

Explain how participating in Mermaid Diva might change your life:

They’d all be sorry that they

I’d be allowed to

I would kick-start my future.

Ringlet snapped the cap back on the marker and edged out from underneath the overhang. The sentinel fish blinked. She bobbed another curtsy and peered into the tiny shrine. A statue of a mermaid glowed at the back. Head down, muscular arms straining, tail high and sleek. 'Coiffure the Adventurer' read the plaque. That was Stella Mermaid Three, who had spent her entire lifetime travelling. By herself. Without stopping to sleep or eat. So they said.

‘Destiny,’ Mer Straba used to say, ‘the precious jewel that lures us ever onwards. You can’t escape from it.’

‘Watch me,’ Ringlet whispered, but in the dimming light, she suddenly felt very alone. She shivered and pulled Iskee close. Thank goodness I have one friend, she thought.

Then it came to her: they’ll miss me and they’ll come looking for me. It wouldn’t hurt to leave a clue. She swung herself back down to the sandy ledge where she’d been sitting.

RINGLET WAS HERE she wrote in neat gold lettering, then she put the pen in her handbag, hugged Iskee to her, and swam on.

‘It works on compacted