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Ali Seashells
A novel by Rose Trapnell. Copyright.

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Things have changed with my friends since New Year.

Something new is starting and I don't like it; something else is dying and I don't want it to.

In front of me the bay stretches forever, a clear silver-blue pool. Fish dart, their mouths open/close, open/close like they're kissing their way through the shallows. The surface scarcely ripples. But it's not quiet. Further off Davo and Chantel splash and laugh. And from the jetty fishermen and couples with kids either sitting on their shoulders, or zooming around on bikes, are all watching Davo and Chantel shriek and splash.

"Get back here!" I yell, but Davo and Chantel are too far away. I could have worn my togs, but we're supposed to be meeting the gang on Pandanus Beach to hear Davo's story and play touch football. Trust Chantel to turn everything around.

Her iridescent green one-piece glides through the water so sharply it competes with the sea, the sand, the sky for attention. If stars fell from heaven they wouldn't glow more strongly than her. And she's so sneaky. She points to Davo's bike and their towels and bags on Pandanus Beach and when Davo looks back she laughs and takes off ahead of him like she's swimming a race. Her long, blonde hair fans her shoulders and swishes on the waves.

When Davo nears her, she stops and skims her fists across the surface to make waves. Davo rubs the salt water from his eyes and swings his black hair off his forehead with one jerk of his head. When he lunges at Chantel, she heads off again. Davo's suntanned arms stroke the water but he's only kicking softly, and his head is lifted, always watching Chantel. Davo's one of the best swimmers in our school, he could swim past her if he wanted to. He's always trying to beat me. Fat chance!

Sometimes we race to the end of the old stone jetty and that's where they're headed now. I walk along it, its white railings either side making sure little kids stick to the path. But there are steps here and there and when Davo and Chantel swim near them I walk down and call their names. As they look up I beckon, but Chantel pummels the water and swims off. And Davo follows her like I'm not even here.

Back at Pandanus Beach, little kids play in the sand and mud, turning over rocks to search for crabs and shells. But soon the tide will be in and the beach will no longer be edged in mud. Green pandanus trees, white sand and blue water, that's what it'll look like soon. Then heaps of kids will be in swimming.

Chantel swims out further but Davo stops, and watches her like he's willing her to turn back. She's swum out of her depth and she knows Davo won't follow. For nearly a year now he's stuck to the shallows and if by mistake he swims too far and his feet can't touch the bottom, he heads back in like his life depends on it. I don't blame him, but I wish he'd get over his fear. Fear is Davo's secret, but a secret is only a secret so long as no-one blabs. All the kids in our group know Davo's become scared of the deep water, but I'm the only one who knows why, and I sure as hell won't tell.

Chantel stops and beckons Davo but he doesn't budge. He's embarrassed, standing there like a little kid who's scared of the water, and Chantel knows it, and smiles. Then she gives in and swims to him.

At the end of the jetty a fisherman's rod bends under the weight of his catch. At the same time Chantel goes under. Has he hooked her? The thought of a jagged hook ripping deep into my skin gives me goose-bumps.

Davo goes under too. He wouldn't get snagged. The fisherman reels in his line, pulling his rod back, giving it some slack, pulling it back again. His arms strain, his shoulders tense, and his face sets in a firm frown. What's he caught? It must be something big to be giving a muscly guy like him trouble. I watch for Davo and Chantel, but they're still under. I look for air bubbles or at least ripples, but there's nothing. The fisherman steps down nearer the water's edge and so does a boy who'd been fishing with a hand line nearby. "What is it?" the kids asks. From the top of the stairs I see it's something round and dark, almost like a shadow. I freeze. Shadows in the water give me the creeps.

"Maybe it's a ray," the kid suggests.

But the fisherman is having so much trouble pulling it in, it must be heavier than that.

Davo and Chantel break the surface a little way off, break the surface together, so close together they could be holding onto each other, could have been holding onto each other under the surface. They gasp for air through open mouths like they've used up every scrap of breath. And they're looking at something in Davo's hand. He's found something and he's giving it to Chantel. I strain to see.

"It's a turtle," the boy near the fisherman wails. "A baby turtle." He jumps down the last of the steps ahead of the fisherman.

"Oh hell," the fisherman says as he drags the turtle from the water. A small crowd gathers at the top of the stairs, watching as the fisherman holds the turtle's neck and prises the fish hook from its mouth. "It'll be all right," he assures the boy, as he returns the turtle to the water. It soon disappears into the depths of the bay.

Chantel smiles at Davo before looking to me and closing her hand tight. Whatever he's given her it's small, and she's pleased to have it. I toy with my black pearls hanging from my shell necklace. Whatever she's got, it won't be a black pearl. I got this necklace for my twelfth birthday. Eighteen shells around my neck and at the centre sit a dozen tiny black pearls in the shape of a mermaid. I roll the head pearl in my fingers; its crystal chip catches the light and glistens like it's relaying a coded message to the sun. It's a special good luck charm and Chantel will never have one.

She swims to the jetty so she can show me what Davo's given her, probably a shell or stone. He follows sheepishly, holding back and even when they reach the steps he doesn't get out but pushes off and does a few back strokes as if he's unaware of what's going on between Chantel and me. His eyes are as blue as the bay and he looks everywhere but at me. Chantel smiles so smugly as she pulls herself from the water that I feel like kicking her back in. She glides on to the stone step beside me and as she uncurls her hand my face becomes hot and my breath catches in my throat.

A silver mermaid charm sits neatly in her wet palm.

"It'll be the best charm on my bracelet," she says. Davo must have had it with him all the time. If he had to give her a charm why couldn't it have been a land animal or a bird. There must be a million designs to choose from, so why did he give her a sea charm when the sea is my special place? And Davo knows it.

"It's special," Chantel says, as she kisses it.

"Mermaids don't exist," I tell her, letting her know she doesn't belong to the sea, and she'll never know just how much a part of it I am. Only one person, apart from my parents, knows that - Davo. "In the olden days," I tell her, "drunken sailors sometimes saw seals sunning themselves on rocks and thought they were mermaids. They don't exist."

"You wouldn't know," Chantel says. "You don't know everything about the sea, Ali Seashells." As she says my nickname, Chantel flicks my necklace and then turns and walks down the jetty, her green togs glistening like they've captured the sun.

"I do," I call after her. "I do know everything about the sea." I glare at Davo as he gets out of the water and plonks himself on the bottom step, his feet sinking into the muddy bay floor. He takes a deep breath and grins at me like an idiot, while the water oozing from his dark blue board shorts makes a puddle on the step.

"You didn't have to give her a sea charm," I say, as I move down to join him.

"She likes mermaids."

"Well she isn't one."

Davo gazes after her and sighs like he's imagining Chantel as one. "Why is Chantel so interested in the sea lately?"

"I dunno," says Davo.

"You haven't told her my secret, have you?"

"No," he says, and looks so alarmed he must be telling the truth. We sit together gazing at the water, and I can't help thinking about that day when I had to reveal my secret. Davo would have died otherwise.

Now, the tide flaps in around us, edging the step and forcing me to move up one. It was about a year ago that Davo found out my secret. We were sitting here like this, ready to play our story game, when we spotted a pod of dolphins playing out near the yachts. When Davo saw them he jumped up and dived in calling 'race you' to me. Earlier we'd both competed in the ocean race and while Davo hadn't won, he'd been pleased with his time.

But the dolphins were too far out; he'd never reach them, and if they'd wanted human contact they'd have come in. As Davo swam out, his arms neatly cutting the surface, his feet splashing white-water, something else was swimming in, keeping to the depths, and if I hadn't jumped into the water too Davo wouldn't be sitting here now. I always think of it when we sit here like this. Does Davo think of it too?

"I've done my story," Davo says as he gives me a devilish smile.

So, he hadn't been thinking of that day at all. I wonder what his story will be about. "If it's about a mermaid," I say, "I'll kill you."

He laughs and his smile tells me there'll be something in his story to tease me.

Mum taught us how to play the story game a few years ago, before she went back to work. Davo used to come to our house after school. And we'd come down here to play on the swings and hunt crabs. Mum used to tell us stories as we sat on the sand.

"When the tide comes in" she'd say, "it folds over every stone, every shell, every mangrove root and each ripple has its own sound. Like musical notes," she'd said. "And as they play they tell a story. If you listen hard enough you can take a story from the incoming tide, but once you have," she'd warned, "you must give a story back on the outgoing tide, or Poseidon, the ancient sea-god, will be angry. You can change the story the tide has given you, or make up a new one. It's up to you." And we've been playing this game on and off ever since.

But this time we've decided to write our stories down. They're the last stories we'll tell before we enter high school, so they're special and we're going to keep them safe.

"Come on," says Davo, jumping to his feet. "The others will be here." As he dashes past me he tugs lightly on my hair and I turn to give him a pretend-punch but he's too quick. All I get is a fistful of spray from his board shorts. "Did you bring the tin?" he calls from the top of the steps.

I pat my brown, hessian backpack, the tin inside it sounding like a drum.

The others in our group have joined our storytelling game. Chantel, Jess, and now Davo's step-brother Sam. We take turns to tell a story, but Davo and I have never told the others about changing stories and giving them back. We're the only ones who do that. So, no matter what stories the others tell, we turn them around to suit ourselves.

As we walk along the jetty Sam runs out to meet us. Davo rolls his eyes when he sees him. Sam always wears green and red; they're Davo's football colours. Like Davo, Sam wears sloppy gear, but on Sam it doesn't look cool, it looks too big. He's got mud-coloured hair and freckles and while he's nearly as old as Davo he's smaller.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," Sam says.

"We've been here," Davo says, walking past like he can't be bothered with Sam.

"Jess here yet?" I ask Sam.

He shakes his head. "Chantel is, but she wants to be on her own." He nods at Chantel who's sunning herself on her towel. She's sitting near Oden, the lifesaver from the Manly pool, and she sure as hell wouldn't want Sam hanging around her. She spreads sunscreen over her legs and arms and sips mineral water. She rolls onto her stomach and flips through a Cleo. Davo stares at her, his muscles tensing. He wants to go and sit with her but he knows she wouldn't want him there either.

"Serves you right," I say to him. "You're so stupid lately." I buy chips from the Island View and the three of us head to Pandanus Beach and wait for Jess. The beach is fenced off from the park by a strip of sandy scrub that almost blocks out kids' squeals and the creaking of swings. We can smell the barbecues though; the breeze tastes of onions and sausages. It makes us hungry and we eat our chips.

"Do you want to sleep over tonight?" Sam asks Davo. "Dad says it's okay."

Davo looks annoyed and shakes his head. "I'm busy."

"Doing what?"

"Something with Mum."

"Pity. We're getting out videos and having pizza. Supa-supreme if you like!"

"Well I can't," Davo says as if he wouldn't want to anyway. Davo doesn't look me in the eye but I know he lied. He won't be doing anything with his mother, apart from watching TV.

"Guess what?" Jess asks in a flurry as she slides down and sprays sand all over our chips. Before we have a chance to say anything she pulls a Dolly poster from her black backpack, and Vince Farina stares back at us.

"He's coming to Carindale shopping centre on Saturday. We have to go."

"I've got cricket," Davo says.

"I don't know," Sam says.

I wish I could think of some way to get out of it. Jess wants to get the autograph of every actor and pop star who comes to Carindale, but so do heaps of other kids and she gets squeezed out every time.

"Vince Farina is a legend," she says.

Chantel joins us, but doesn't look happy. She takes one look at Jess's poster and says, "You'd have to be a loser to like him. He can't sing, and he's such a crappy actor he's being written out of the Sunset Bay series. Shark attack."

Davo flinches at the words but the others don't notice. Jess's mouth hangs open. We all know Vince Farina is on the way out, but Jess can't help it, she goes crazy over anyone famous. And Chantel doesn't have to call her a loser. "I'll go as long as I'm allowed," I say to Jess. And she smiles, because she knows I'll be allowed.

Oden walks onto the beach with a girl in a purple bikini. Chantel scowls and Davo smiles. Oden's got his red speedos on, the sort he wears when he's a lifeguard at the Manly pool. He swings his arms above his head and makes fists so the muscles down his arms and across his back ripple. He goes to the same school we're starting at soon and I guess the girl in the purple bikini goes there too. She's older than us.

So this is my group of friends. Jess, who thinks she's in love with anyone famous who comes to our neighbourhood; Chantel who thinks she's in love with Oden because he looks like the guys in Cleo; Davo who thinks he's in love with Chantel because she's pretty, and Sam - Sam just wants Davo to love him like a brother.

Davo takes his water bottle from his backpack and has a few gulps. It's his old school backpack, signed by every kid in our class last year. Then he gets out his story, a few pieces of paper stapled down the side. The story's hand written and he's done a few drawings too. Good, because this is what we decided on - to write and illustrate our own stories. I strain to see the drawings. Am I in there? He's drawn someone with long hair on the front page, but it looks more like Chantel. He fidgets and turns the pages. He looks around like he's trying to see if anyone we know is watching. "Get on with it." I elbow him.

"This is a great story," Davo says. I give him a look that let's him know I doubt it, and we all move in closer.

"Once there was a brave warrior who had been away from home fighting for five years. He'd saved the lives of heaps of soldiers and now he and the others were on their way home.

Not far from their home they met their king who asked them to free his beautiful daughter. One day while she'd been doing her needlework in the forest she'd been taken captive by a dragon and a giant eagle and had been held prisoner in a cave at the top of a cliff for five years.

But the soldiers were too tired and said to the king, "Sire, the dragon is way too powerful, and the eagle could slay us with a single beat of his wings."

But the king was desperate. "I'll give half my kingdom to the soldier who rescues my daughter," he pledged. "And they can marry her."

The brave warrior stepped forward. The kingdom was rich and the castle better than any he'd seen. And the princess had long blonde hair and blue eyes and was loved and admired by all.

Davo stops and looks at Chantel but she flips her hair over her shoulder and gazes around pretending she's not interested. Davo's princesses are always beautiful, the image of Chantel. Jess too looks at Chantel wishfully, and even when she tells a story she never makes up princesses with brown hair and freckles like her. Davo clears his throat.

So, the warrior set out on his journey.

A short way up the cliff he passed the house of an evil old hag who had long knotted black hair and eyes the colour of night.

Davo looks at me and I smirk at him. I might have known he'd make the old hag look like me.

The old hag ran after him and asked what business he had on the cliff and when he told her she gave him a basket of fish and a fish knife for his quest. But the warrior knew the old hag was a crazy woman who might mean him harm, so that night he cooked and ate a couple of fish, and left the rest in the basket. Just as he suspected, the fish were poisonous, and he was sick for three days, but in his dreams he saw the face of the princess, urging him on.

Before continuing up the cliff he returned to the old hag's house and slit her throat with the fish knife. As he killed the evil witch the fish knife turned into a sword that could shoot lasers when wielded in sunlight.

I give Davo one of my, 'this is a pathetic story' looks, but he doesn't pay any attention and the others are still interested. He loves killing me off in his stories. But just wait till it's my turn to give his story back to the sea!

So the warrior crept up the cliff, and climbed a tree.

At dawn, the princess came from the cave and began doing her needlework. The dragon watched over her and the eagle circled high above. As the sun broke in front of the cliff face the warrior wielded his sword and a laser struck the dragon in the neck. The eagle flew for the warrior and again he wielded his sword but the eagle was too quick and ripped the sword from his hands, its huge talons gripping the handle.

Davo holds his story in one hand while the other claws the air.

In a few wing beats the eagle flew out to sea and let the sword drop.

The princess cried and thought the eagle would kill them both. But the warrior told the princess to climb the tree with him and to give him one of the ribbons from her hair. As the eagle approached, the warrior lassoed one of its feet with the ribbon and swiftly tied it to a branch, leaving the eagle flapping frantically.

The warrior told the princess to bring him the scissors from her needlework basket, and then he bravely clipped the wings of the giant eagle till both hung limply by its side. The princess and the warrior returned to the king. There was a great wedding feast and the warrior became known as not only the bravest but also the richest man in the land, and he was married to the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Davo turns the last page; the warrior and princess he's drawn look much like him and Chantel. Surprise, surprise!

"He couldn't really clip an eagle's wings though, could he?" asks Sam.

"Of course," Davo says. "I've clipped a bird's wings."

"What bird?" I ask.

"My grandfather's chooks," Davo says. "Grandad used to have to clip their wings so they wouldn't fly away."

"I don't remember your grandfather having chooks," I say. "And anyway, he's been living in Cairns for years, and ..."

"It was a good story," Chantel says loudly, cutting me off. Oden and his girlfriend walk past. "He used his brains as well as his muscles," Chantel says just as loudly, and Davo smiles and straightens his back.

"Don't fluff yourself up like a chook," I say to him. "Or someone'll clip your wings." I make scissors of my hands and snip, snip, snip towards him.

"I liked the sword bit," Sam says.

Jess has her Vince Farina poster in her lap. "He looks like a warrior."

What! We screw up our noses at her. Vince is dressed in tight black jeans and a pinkish coloured shirt.

"His guitar is like a sword," she insists. Vince holds the guitar loosely, its neck crossing his chest.

"Whatever you reckon," Sam says. We all know there's no point in arguing with Jess.

But I'm already thinking of the changes I'll make to the story and I give Davo a smile that lets him know it. I take the tin out of my backpack.

"Perfect," Davo says as he eyes it. The tin is dark blue and has gold and silver suns, moons and stars printed all over. Davo folds his story in half - the first one to go in. By the end of the holidays we'll each have a story in here, along with precious items from our childhood. Then we'll decide what to do with the tin. Maybe we'll bury it. I haven't decided what I'll put in yet. I picture my dolphin ornament on my duchess, but I don't think I can part with it.

Our whole class did something like this at the end of last year. Each Year 7 kid had to write about their school, something they'd enjoyed doing throughout the year. Most kids wrote about going on camp, about canoeing and abseiling and mucking about at night once the lights were out. That time-capsule is buried in our school grounds, and it's going to stay there for twenty years.

I look around my group of friends. Most of us have been friends all through primary school and while Sam has always been in our class, he joined our group two years ago.

"I'm hungry," Chantel says.

Now that Oden isn't around she doesn't mind stuffing her face. I hand her the chips and she shoves some in her mouth. She chews but then spits them out, feeling the sand on her tongue and teeth and Jess and I laugh.

A few men tie a white banner to the jetty rail. OCEAN RACE AUSTRALIA DAY 7 A.M. GREAT PRIZES.

"I wonder what the prizes will be this year?" Sam says. Sam's not a great swimmer, but Davo always has been so that's reason enough for Sam to want to be too.

Davo looks to the sand and doesn't say a word.

"You might win Davo," Chantel says. "You almost won last year."

Still, Davo says nothing. It would take a really big prize to coax Davo back into deep water. How's he going to get out of racing without everyone thinking he's a wimp?

In the afternoon we play touch football, but it's hot, and the only one who plays seriously is Sam. Davo's good at football and while Sam tries hard, he doesn't have what it takes. And as usual by the end of the day Davo can't resist tackling Sam, hurtling him to the sand.

"You should give him a break," I say to Davo once the others are gone.

"Why? I can't do anything without him copying me."

"He wants to be like you."

"Well he's not me."

We sit at the edge of the bay as the tide slips out.

"I want my own father," Davo says. "He shouldn't have left Mum and me and married Sam's mother."

I don't know what to say. I try to imagine what it would be like if my Mum and Dad split up but I can't.

"Changing my story much?" Davo asks.

I answer him with a smile and take a deep breath as I look into the water.

Once upon a time there was a brave warrior who had been away at war for five years. As he returned home with his soldiers they were met by their king who pleaded with them to rescue his beautiful daughter. She'd been taken prisoner by a dragon and a giant eagle.

Both the eagle and the dragon pledged their love to the princess and wanted her to choose one to marry.

But the princess stalled for time, saying she couldn't decide until she knew them better. And the princess waited, hoping she'd think of a way to escape.

When the warrior heard the reward for rescuing the princess would be half the kingdom as well as the princess's hand in marriage, he knew the rewards were worth the risk. Besides, he was very brave.

Davo smiles at this. He sees himself as the warrior and likes to think he's brave. I love sucking him in.

So, he set out on his journey up the cliff. After a short time he came by the hut of the old hag. The old hag rushed after him giving him a basket flaked in silver, and in it were some fish and a fish knife. Now, as the warrior was brave but not particularly smart he ate a couple of the fish and became really sick.

Davo rolls his eyes at me. I love making fun of his heroes.

He threw out the fish but kept the silver basket and the knife and continued on his way. He journeyed all through the night, creeping through the trees and bushes, being careful not to be seen. But the stench of fish travelled with him, and when the warrior looked into the basket he saw the fish had returned. Again he emptied the basket, being careful to keep the fish knife. At day break he hid in a tree and when the princess walked from the cave she sniffed, smelt fish, and went to the tree to investigate. She told the warrior to hand her the basket and then she made a bargain with the eagle.

Davo raises an eyebrow as if to say, 'What bargain?' and I give him a smile.

She hid the knife in the folds of her skirt and told the eagle she truly loved him and would marry him. She asked him to let her ride on his back and told him to fly to the dragon so she could tell him of her decision face to face. As the eagle hovered close to the dragon's head the princess took the fish knife from the folds of her skirt and plucked out the dragon's eyes. The dragon roared, spewing fire from his nostrils and mouth. When the eagle let the princess down she ran to the basket and flung it at the dragon's mouth. As she did the basket turned into a huge fish and as the greedy eagle flew to catch it, the dragon roared again and burnt him to a crisp.

The warrior pledged his undying love to the princess and she told him he deserved half her father's kingdom as he had faced her captors whereas her own father had not. And as a result she'd had to spend five years with a dragon and an eagle. But, she said, she couldn't marry him as she didn't know him and only a silly princess would marry someone she didn't know. So, the princess walked off down the cliff but told the warrior he could visit her if he liked. First though, she'd be paying a visit to the old hag, without whose help she would never have found her freedom.

"Trust you to let the old hag live," Davo says as he nudges me. "Can't you kill her off just once?"

"Never." I shake my head sending my thick black hair waving about me. I dip my fingers into a receding wave and say 'thank you' before jumping to my feet and running into the water. I don't care if I haven't got my togs on; I have a visit of my own to make.

Water splashes, licking my skin like it's trying to suck me down. Behind, I hear Davo splashing but he won't catch me and he knows it.

"Ali Seashells!" he calls, but I don't look back. The water circles my hips, cool sprays across my stomach, and with my arms held high, palms together, I dive. My feet kick in unison as my body folds and arches like a wave. At the back of my nose my tubes open, run to my ears and rise to the top of my head. My senses unblock in a frenzy. As I breathe in the beautiful sea water, I smell the creatures who dwell here, the sand, and the weed; I taste its salt, and I'm dizzy with pleasure.

Skidding along the bottom of the bay I send sand billowing; my mouth stretches to a wide smile. Then I shoot forward as fast as I can, as if this is my last journey. And now I'm Ali Seashells, my own true self, and I forge ahead like the dolphin I am. I chuckle and roll and jump clear of the water before spooning down. Out past the boats, past Stradbroke and Moreton Islands, out past everything known to man, that's where I'm heading.

Above me a fishing trawler spills its nets, but I dart forward, inches from its old barnacled hull and jump clear across its bow. When I call, the fishermen rush forward and lean over the bow rail. I dive, then jump again and again. And while most fishermen return to their work, there's always one, on any boat, in any ocean, who'll linger and wish in their heart that they could follow me. On my last jump I call strongly and bow my head to pay respect to the fisherman's spirit, but in a gust of wind I see the fisherman is a fisherwoman and I wish with my whole heart that I could take her with me. But I must head to deeper water, for this is my journey, and the fisherwomen and fishermen of this world must each find their own.

Down, down I go into the deep blue, where schools of mackerel and perch swarm around me in a silver haze. In the dark cool depths I swim gently as the world spins and slips and floats weightless above me. On the ocean floor sand puffs then settles, and a crack in the seabed spreads like the shells of a giant clam. But this entrance will never snap shut and trap me.

I slip through the crack to the broad underworld where the water is warm yet tingles my skin, where great shafts of light come from something other than sun, where I sense and feel things before I see them. This is a place where nothing is impossible, where I can do anything, yet everything is up to me. The vast underworld stretches before me with its caved cliffs and dark deep valleys, its coral hedges and anemone gardens.

But something is wrong.

There's a thickening of water, a dulling of my senses; a grey veil floats before me, a heaviness clouds my progress. The underworld, normally so clear, is home to a new predator. I sense it, but as I dart this way and that, it's nowhere to be seen. What is here?

An absence of life confronts me. My friends, Gartus and Veridan, would normally swim to greet me.

Seaweed wafts around me but there are no fish, no dolphins; and as I dive deeper towards our dolphin enclave the weed thickens and tiny eyes peer from the strands to mark my progress. Who is it? And where are my friends?

The weed gives way to a giant cliff-face dotted with tunnels; one leads direct to our enclave while several others are either dead ends, or twist and turn before joining the one straight path. I take the straight path, but just before I enter a pair of eyes peer at me from a nearby tunnel and even though the water is warm goose-bumps rise along my back.

I swish my tail and hurry. But it's dark. Where are the starfish that normally line the walls? As I pass the dark entrances where other tunnels join this one I hug the wall, afraid to look inside the great cavities. The water surging from them chills me.

It's as if all warmth has gone from the underworld.

With our dolphin enclave before me I forge ahead. The enclave is quieter than it should be, darker than it should be. I swish my tail for an extra burst of speed but what's that rushing from the tunnel on my left? In a flash it collides with me, tossing me into the wall. Pain rips at my side and the tunnel spins.

As I open my eyes Pennamie is floating beside me, her large eyes full of concern. How could so small a dolphin pack such a punch?

"I'm sorry," she says. "I was in a hurry to get back to the enclave and didn't see you coming."

I move my fins and swish my tail, and while I'm sore, I don't think any real damage has been done. Pennamie has fared worse from our collision. "Your dorsal fin is bent," I say as I nudge her fin with my nose.

"It's nothing," she says. "It happened ages ago."

As we swim off I ask her what's happened, but she tells me to wait till we're in the enclave.

Surrounded by mountains that reach to the top of the ocean floor, our wide, light-filled enclave has been a playground for dolphins for as long as anyone can remember. And we've always been safe here. By the time any predator found their way through the tunnels the dolphins were always ready and waiting for them. But something is wrong. There's no laughter, no play; the enclave is silent.

"Where's Gartus?" I ask Pennamie, and she nods to a far corner. There, sits a great mound of grey, and as I near it I see the mound shivers. The mound is a huddle of dolphins, fins around each other, heads pointed towards the seabed.

"Gartus?" I call. When there's no reply I wonder if something has happened to him and call his name again, but this time with alarm. The huddle rustles and parts and Gartus slowly makes his way towards me. Gartus, the warrior, cowers but eventually his eyes rest on me. The old scar along his right cheek is red, as if the wound is new and I run my fin along it. "What's happened?"

"We don't know. A new predator has crept in. It's not a shark, nor a giant squid. It lurks, like something rotting from the inside."

"Where's Veridan?" Veridan holds our clan's intuitive powers. "She must know where the predator comes from."

"She's gone."

"Gone? Where?"

Gartus shakes his head and looks to the floor. "Maybe the predator has taken her?"

No, I think. Veridan would find some way of letting us know. "We have to find the predator," I say to Gartus.

He turns away but I move quickly and look him in the eye. "We must fight it." I can't believe the change in Gartus. Gartus the warrior who would take on any predator now flinches like a baby.

"It's our time to take charge," I tell him. "Otherwise, what future will we have?"

A spark of recognition stings Gartus' eyes, like he's shaking himself from a drugged sleep.

"Ali," Pennamie calls as she rushes to me. "It's time for you to leave."

"What? I've only just got here."

"You must leave now. The predator will be drawn to your energy and we'll all be in danger." Pennamie pleads, placing her fins either side of me.

I can't read the look Gartus is giving Pennamie. Gartus has never liked her, but she has always been my friend.

"Please, Ali," Pennamie says, hovering around me. She wails and knocks me with her fins, urging me to move.

"Will you fight the predator?" I ask Gartus. But he looks to the dark entrance of the tunnel and cowers.

"We must keep quiet," Pennamie insists. "The predator feeds on energy. Your presence makes us stand out."

I want to stay but Gartus and the others cower weakly, and I don't want to draw the predator to them. I allow Pennamie to usher me out and make for the topworld.

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