She was driving through the town of Kilcolgan when she spotted the Mercedes. As the big car overtook her, a shaft of sunlight struck its silver-gray roof with a flash of light. Instinctively Katie raised her hand to salute the driver. More than an hour later, as she left Claremorris, the same car passed her again with a friendly beep. She had already decided to stop for lunch in Sligo, when she spotted the Mercedes parked in front of a hotel. On an impulse, she drew up her bike and went in search of the car’s owner.
The hotel was softly lit and plushy, with a long hallway leading to a spacious lounge. The mahogany tables gleamed with polish, partnered by cushioned stools and chairs. Scenes of the Hunt adorned the walls with huntsmen in red coats, brindled horses and hounds, and the little rust-colored fox running for its life. Lunch was being served from a carvery bar. The smell of roast beef thickened the air. The rattle of cutlery on china countered the noise of piped music.
Katie scanned the crowd. Though she had no idea what the driver looked like, she hoped he would recognize her mack and the helmet under her arm. When a stocky red-haired man in a business suit signaled to her, she hurried to join him.
“This is a wild but educated guess,” she said. “Are you Mattie O’Shea?”
“Katie Quirke, I presume?”
He put out his hand. The two redheads grinned at each other with instant liking.
“I had hoped you would see the car, and ordered us some lunch,” he told her. “Plenty of sandwiches—rounds of beef, ham, and salad—and the soup of the day. Is that all right with you?”
“God bless you, I’m famished! I could eat the leg of a table.”
She pulled off her mack and eyed the bar.
“Will you take a drink?” she asked him.
He hesitated a moment.
“You did lunch …”
“Right,” he agreed. “Pint of Guinness.”
When Katie returned with two pints of black stout, they lifted their glasses together.
“Sláinte.”
“To the high road and beyond.”
“Gwen told me you offered a lift,” Katie said, after she took a long sup. “But I prefer to travel on my own steam. And I wanted time to think. No offense?”
“Not at’all,” said Mattie. “It worked out for the best. I had a few matters to clear up, just in case.” He paused, as a shadow crossed his features, then he steadied himself. “Do you know, when I passed you near Galway, I knew it was you. For a moment, I saw something else. Not a girl on a motorbike, but a giantess on a horse!”
He blushed, as redheads are wont to do, and was about to apologize for talking nonsense.
“I know what you mean,” Katie assured him. “Do you know why I waved? When the sun shone on your car, it suddenly looked like a silver chariot. Strange doings are afoot and we are a part of them.”
They sat in breathless silence, acknowledging the momentous nature of their journey and the great mystery that awaited them.
“Gwen told me you have a wife and baby? It must have been a hard decision for you.”
Mattie sighed heavily. “It was. But I had a long talk with Miriam, and she agrees with what I’m doing. We both come from villages where the old ways haven’t died out altogether. It seems right to go when you are called. What about you?”
“I lied.” Katie looked shamefaced. “Officially I’m on holidays. My family have enough on their plates with my Da ill and the farm to look after. I’m worried myself about what might happen, but that wouldn’t stop me. I feel as if my whole life has been leading to this. I even managed to quit smoking at last, to purify myself in a way. Does that sound daft?”
“Not to me,” said Mattie. His middle-aged features were suddenly youthful as the imaginative boy inside him crowed with delight.
When they left the hotel, the two parted as friends.
“Slán go fóill!”
“Safe journey till we meet again on Inch!”
When the sleek silver car pulled up outside Granny’s cottage, Gwen ran to greet Mattie. The others were a little surprised by his professional appearance, but it wasn’t long before he was ensconced in the kitchen, talking and laughing with the rest of them.
It was a good while later, when they were finishing supper, that Katie arrived. Her motorcycle belched a cloud of black smoke as it came to a halt with a sputter. Again Gwen ran out to meet her friend. This reunion was louder, as they hugged with shouts of glee.
“I was in a fit I wouldn’t make it!” Katie cried. “Bloody potholes! The exhaust is broken and maybe more. But even if the blasted thing burst asunder I would have come—on foot, if I had to!”
Helmet under her arm, she marched into the house where she greeted Mattie like a long-lost brother. Then she shook hands with Granny, Dara, and Findabhair, pumping their arms with a firm grip. All were impressed by her boundless energy.
“Are you hungry, my dear?” the old woman asked. “I’ve kept your dinner in the oven.”
“God bless you!”
The others dished out their dessert of stewed rhubarb with custard, while Katie started on her plate of corned beef with cabbage and floury potatoes. The talk around the table flowed freely, punctuated with laughter. It was as if there were no strangers present. As the personalities blended together, each was overcome by the sense they had all met before. In other times and other places, this group had gathered. As it was, so would it be, now and always.
“Are we all here?” Mattie asked, looking around. “I have a feeling that someone is missing. As if I’m holding a meeting and my top salesman is absent.”
“You too?” Katie exclaimed. “I was thinking, myself, the count was wrong.” She started to laugh. “A head short of the herd.”
Pleased that the circle was bonding so well, Gwen knew the time had come. She cleared her throat.
“There was something I left out in the phone calls. As you’ve guessed yourselves, there is another with us. I thought it might be a bit too much to give you the whole story in one go.”
Katie caught her breath with a thrill of premonition. She knew Gwen was about to say something wonderful.
“The King of the Fairies is in this with us.”
Katie released her breath in a whistle. Mattie looked shaken.
“That’s it!” cried Katie. “I’ll die happy.”
“Let’s hope we won’t have to,” Findabhair warned.
Mattie could barely contain his excitement. His boyhood wish was about to be fulfilled.
“When will he join us?”
“He has asked us to meet him tonight at Inch Castle,” said Gwen.
“It’s an empty ruin,” Dara explained, “but he’s uncomfortable in houses.”
“A midnight court?” Katie asked, overjoyed.
“A Council of War,” was the sobering reply.
hortly before midnight they set out for Inch Castle in Mattie’s car. Granny sat in the front passenger seat, while the four young people climbed into the back.
“You’ll have to sit on my lap,” Dara said, pulling Gwen on top of him.
“There’s plenty of room,” she protested mildly.
“No there isn’t.”
He held her firmly and nuzzled her neck.
“I’m being curcudgellach,” he said.
“What?”
“It’s an old Donegal word for ‘affectionate.’”
She laughed. “I like it.”
Findabhair rolled her eyes at Katie, who was already grinning.
“Everyone comfortable back there?” Mattie asked.
“Some more than others,” was Findabhair’s response.
At Granny’s direction, Mattie drove to the far side of the island. Leaving the main road, he turned up a narrow lane. It took them through a farmyard where they woke the dogs sleeping in the barn. By the time the farmer had opened his window to investigate, the silver car had passed on.
Eventually the lane stopped at a cattle gate that led into a broad field.
“En
d of the road,” Mattie announced. “From here we walk.”
They had no difficulty crossing the meadow. Cropped short by sheep, the grass was a trim lawn that shone in the moonlight. The ground rolled downward to a rocky shore that met the restless waters of Lough Swilly. And there on the rocks, like a great broken tooth, jutted the ruin of Inch Castle.
It had been abandoned for centuries. Empty windows stared blindly over field and lough. The shattered walls were clotted with ivy. A cold mist snaked through the rubble of stones.
As the group made their way toward the castle, Dara told the most notorious tale of its history.
“In the great days of O’Doherty rule, Inch was the richest territory in Inishowen. In the fifteenth century, two cousins called Donnell and Rory fought for its sovereignty. One imprisoned the other in the castle and set it ablaze. The victim, Donnell, broke free somehow and came out on the battlements. Rory was camped below in this very field. Maddened with rage, Donnell tore a great stone from the ramparts and hurled it down on top of his cousin. Needless to say, Donnell claimed the kingship.”
“God, what a story,” said Katie. “Those ancient lads were pure wild!”
She had no sooner spoken than the air resounded with the clash of metal. Inch Castle began to waver. Then all of them saw the scene. Flames shot out from the windows, burning the sky with a bloodred glow. Men thronged the field below, weapons gray and glinting. A figure high on the walls, furious and roaring, lifted a huge boulder over his head.
“Look away!” Granny said quickly. “Stop thinking about it! Time and space go awry near the fey folk.”
Even as they obeyed her the din of war receded, and the ghosts of the past dispelled like mist. But the castle did not return to ruins. Rather, it stood now as it had in its heyday.
Fully restored, finely pointed and mortared, the walls rose up to challenge the sky. Present also were the wings and buttresses that had long since fallen into the lough. Tasseled banners fluttered above the turrets. The citadel was ablaze with light. Chandeliers could be seen through vaulted arches, flickering with the lights of a thousand candles. From the tall lancet windows music issued forth.
The group quickened their pace. They knew what this meant. Fairy revels were taking place within.
As soon as they reached the oaken door of the castle, it swung open before them. Riotous sounds rushed out to greet them. They stepped over the threshold and into a fairy tale.
In the blink of an eye, each was arrayed in shining garments. Katie was resplendent in froths of yellow muslin, with her shoulders bared and her hair caught up in golden combs. Granny was a stately matron in silver-gray silk with a long white train hemmed with diamonds. Gwen twirled with delight in a rose-colored gown embroidered all over with wild red roses. Rubies dripped from her ears and throat. Findabhair’s beauty was accented once again in her favorite black, a sheen of ebony stippled with pearls.
The men were handsome in bright linen tunics with cloaks tossed dashingly over one shoulder. Dara was in scarlet, like the famous Pimpernel, with a dark mantle fringed with gold. Mattie wore various hues of forest-green and his cloak was clasped with a brooch of emeralds. On his head was a jaunty plumed hat.
The hall itself was dressed for fun and frolic. Tables groaned under the weight of a fabulous feast, sweetmeats and savories and mouthwatering confections. Marble fountains dispensed spiced wines, warm reds and cool whites. Champagne bubbled like mountain springs. The air reverberated with tumultuous tunes, as the assembly capered on deft feet without stopping for breath.
“Council of War?” Gwen said, laughing.
“The fairy way.” Findabhair grinned. “Party first, work later.”
“Proper order,” Katie declared, looking around with satisfaction. “A taste of what I’m fighting for.”
There was no more time for talk. The fairy folk came running to draw them into the festivities, and their company was scattered throughout the hall.
“It’s yourself, no less!” came a shout behind Gwen.
Recognizing the voice, she whirled around to face the leprechaun. Her jaw dropped as she took in his outfit.
Fancifully dressed in a green suit with tails and a vest of gold brocade, he wore a magnificent top hat crowned with shamrocks. His feet were shod with black patent shoes clasped with silver buckles.
“Why waste a perfectly good stereotype,” he said, in response to her look. “I hear you’ve been havin’ a grand oul time in me absence. Fair play to ye! How about a dance?”
Before she could resist, he clutched her around the waist and dragged her onto the floor.
“Ouch!” she said, as he trod on her toes.
“Asha, don’t I have two left feet?”
She looked down, and sure enough he did! She was wondering frantically how she could escape, when Midir cut in.
Dressed in a dark-blue tunic with a silver cloak, he twirled her away.
“Have I saved a damsel in distress?”
“My champion,” she said, laughing. “You’re always rescuing me.”
“It is my pleasure.”
She was still with Midir by the time Dara caught up with her to claim a dance. The red-haired Tánaiste yielded his partner, but not without reluctance.
“I think he fancies you,” Dara said, as they waltzed away.
“As a matter of fact,” Gwen replied airily, “he does.”
A furrow of jealousy creased Dara’s brow.
Gwen started to laugh.
“Men are so ridiculous. Always forgetting the important question. Who do I like?”
Dara laughed too, and drew her closer.
“Don’t you mean who do you love?”
“Maybe.”
Yes, she had definitely become a flirt.
“Let’s get stuck into the feast,” Dara suggested, looking over at the banquet table.
Gwen let go of his hand.
“Don’t you remember what I told you?” she said, wincing. “How I failed that test?”
“You and God-knows-how-many others. According to Granny, who failed it too, you’d have to hate food to pass it.”
“That wouldn’t be me,” Gwen said ruefully. Then she brightened as the truth struck home. “And you know what? I like being me. To hell with diets. Where’s that chocolate mousse?”
It was sometime later that Midir discovered Katie, and the two redheads spun onto the floor with wild abandon.
“This is the life!” cried Katie, as the hall whirled around her.
“It could be yours, if you wish.”
“Go ’way with you. You’re sweeping me off my feet.”
Mattie wouldn’t dance at first, despite the entreaties of the beautiful fairy women. He stood at the edges of the throng, gazing in quiet bliss like one enchanted.
The fairies murmured among themselves.
“Will our guest not dance?”
“He will, he will. She’s on her way.”
“Has the King sent for her?”
“Of course. You’ll see.”
Though Mattie overheard them, he didn’t understand their words until he saw her. She moved through the crowd as gracefully as a swan. Clad in a gown of red satin with diamonds in her hair, she looked beautiful and vivacious.
“Miriam! What on earth—”
He ran to embrace her but stopped, overcome with awe, even as he had been when he first courted her. Removing his plumed hat with a flourish, he bowed before her.
“Matt, is this a dream? Or are we really in Fairyland?”
“I think the answer is yes to both, my love. Shall we dance?”
Granny, too, was drawn onto the floor, for in Faerie no limbs are old or weary. Fond cries met her on all sides—“Grania, you have returned to us!”—as the fairies greeted a former queen.
It was the same for Findabhair, their present queen. Wherever she walked they gathered around her, kissing her hand, and murmuring their gratitude. For they knew the choice she had made on their behalf. She was touched
by their affection, but her eyes kept searching the hall. Though she was accustomed to fairy protocols and knew Finvarra would be late, she couldn’t enjoy herself until he arrived.
Wandering away from the crowd, she stood alone in an alcove overlooking Lough Swilly. The moon was mirrored in the water, rippling on the waves. It was like a pale-gold creature, precious and fragile, asleep below the surface. In the distance, dark mountains kept watch like sentinels.
“I wish this would stop,” she sighed.
His absence was like an itch she couldn’t scratch, an ache she couldn’t soothe. Food tasted bland, music sounded dull, and colors looked gray. Life without him was a shadow. She had never felt this way before. The depth of her emotions was disturbing. Things were out of control and there was nothing she could do about it.
“It is no easier for me, Beloved,” he murmured behind her.
Finvarra’s arms encircled her as he lay his head on her shoulder.
Findabhair turned to embrace him.
The King’s sloe-black eyes brooded upon her.
“Since time began I have loved freely, never losing myself utterly in any one woman. You have disrupted my life as greatly as I have yours.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she said, though of course it did.
He saw this and his humor lightened.
“It was your name that first drew me to you, my sweet Findabhair. So like to mine and no others bear it. I should have been warned instead of drawn. It is doom to meet one’s equal.”
Findabhair laughed. The King grasped her tighter to show how meaningless were his words.
“I missed you,” she said.
“Only three days, a stór, and did I not come to you each night?”
“That was really you? I thought it was only my dreams.”
“Dreams are never ‘only,’” he chided. “But come, my Queen. It is not love but war that we must look to this night.”
They stepped out from the alcove, one human, one immortal, both clothed in night’s black and arrayed with stars. As they walked arm-in-arm toward the assembly, the music and dancing ceased and trumpets blared out.
The Hunter's Moon Page 16
