And they sensed what he saw as he beheld them: seven specks of light besieged by darkness.
Though he had no mouth, a fell voice resounded in their thoughts.
Why come you here?
Stunned by his presence, by a titanic reality they could barely grasp, no one responded at first.
Then Findabhair found the will to speak. Her words quivered, small and pale in the dark.
“I am the hostage of the Hunter’s Moon.”
The others immediately closed ranks around her.
I have not called you, but I acknowledge your existence. Do you consent to be the sacrifice?
Before Findabhair could answer, her friends cried out.
“SHE DOES NOT!”
The disturbance in Crom Cruac shook the very foundations of the world. The ground quaked beneath them. The dark tarn seethed and boiled like a cauldron. The distant mountains began to erupt, spewing fire into the sky with billows of black smoke.
You dare to break a timeless covenant.
They didn’t wait for his attack, but moved instinctively to fight for their lives.
Experienced in battle, Finvarra led the charge. He flew on mighty wings toward the Worm, his sword flashing with light. The rest followed, drawing their weapons as they ran.
Katie scaled a height of rocks nearby and took up position. Silver streaked through the air as she let fly her arrows. The others bore down on the Worm with sword and spear.
Only to find their blades rebound as if his skin were armored.
“The eyes!” cried Mattie. “Go for the eyes!”
Indeed they were the only penetrable area. Spears pierced, swords hewed, and arrows struck their target.
Gwen’s first thought had been for the bird on her wrist. Slipping off its hood, she released the gyrfalcon so it could fly to safety. Only then did she discover the full measure of Faerie’s blessing and her wondrous transmutation.
There was a moment’s blur in which she felt the giddy thrill of flight. Then flashed an onslaught of images. A bird’s-eye view of the battle scene clashed with her own ground-level perspective. She was in her body where it stood, but she was also inside the falcon as it soared into the air.
“It’s me!” she shouted, lifting her spear.
“It’s me!” she screeched, as she dove from above.
Caught off guard by the Company’s audacity, the Hunter was slow to rally and retaliate. Numerous wounds were inflicted upon him. His roars bellowed through their minds. His sight darkened as countless eyes were destroyed. He lost a hundred to Katie’s arrows alone, before he lunged down at her.
With one sweeping gesture, like the crack of a whip, he dashed her against the rocks.
She crashed to the ground with a scream of agony. Crom Cruac moved to strike again.
Mattie rushed to Katie’s side and dragged her out of the way, behind the rocks. Her limbs looked twisted and wrong. Blood stained her clothes.
“Oh God, your legs are broken!”
“Prop me up,” she gasped. “My arms are good.”
“You’re wounded. You need—”
“There’s no time for nursing!” she cried. “If we stop, all is lost!”
Eyes wet with tears, Mattie did as she told him, wedging her battered body between two large stones.
She tried to smile through her pain to comfort him.
“It takes more than one swipe to beat a redhead.”
And once more the archer let fly her arrows.
Mattie returned to the combat, enraged with a frenzy that sought revenge for Katie’s wounds. Each thrust of his lance struck with ruthless fury.
The blow to Katie taught the Company a lesson. They changed their tactics. In a dance of death they advanced and retreated, now striking Crom Cruac, now running from his blows.
Maddened, the Worm came out of the lake and coiled upon the shore. Huge and swollen, he rolled toward them to crush them beneath his weight.
But their smallness was an advantage. They scattered in all directions, only to regroup on the other side to charge him again.
Though she fought well on foot, it was Gwen’s attacks from the air that did the most damage. As with all raptors, the white gyrfalcon was most ferocious in female form. The darling of kings and emperors, its persistence was legendary. This was a creature that never gave up. She swooped with deadly aim, beak and talon tearing at her prey.
Strengthened by the grace of Faerie, Granny fought like a warrior. She had been using her staff as a spear before she learned, to her delight, that it discharged bolts of fire. Then she wreaked more havoc upon the Hunter.
Though Dara saw that his great-aunt had power, he fought alongside her in a protective manner. He also kept watch on Gwen wherever she battled. It may have been this divided attention that caused him to falter, with dire consequence. For he was the one who discovered the ultimate horror.
After piercing a great eye that loomed above him, he retreated too slowly. A viscous fluid splashed onto his arm, searing the flesh to the bone. He staggered back in shock and pain, and shrieked a warning to the others.
But his cry came too late.
Wielding two swords simultaneously, Findabhair slashed and hewed. She fought with a fierce passion, aware that her friends were suffering on her behalf. But despite her swiftness, the Worm landed a blow and beat her to the ground.
Something broke inside her, she felt it instantly. She couldn’t move. As the darkness gathered around her, she saw the eye that mirrored her death. Then she heard and saw no more.
Finvarra had been striking from the air when he spied Findabhair’s plight. He flew to her side, but she lay unmoving. He placed his shield over her even as Crom Cruac lunged to deal a final blow. With sword and spear Finvarra kept him at bay, striking again and again.
The furious assault was too much for the Hunter. The stinging blows too many. He retreated from Finvarra, but not before ruin had been wrought upon his enemy.
Standing before Findabhair to protect her, Finvarra couldn’t escape the poisonous rain of the eyes. His wings were set ablaze. Too shocked to cry out, he dove into the black water. When he crawled out again the flames had been doused, but the wondrous appendages trailed behind him like rags. His eyes were glazed with anguish. In his immortal life, he had never known pain.
“Retreat!” cried Gwen. Her cries came from above and below. “To the rocks near Katie! There’s a cave. Retreat inside!”
The keen sight of the falcon had spotted the cleft in the rocks. Now the Captain of the Company of Seven shouted new orders from her vantage point. Granny was to distract the Hunter with flashes of fire. Katie was to shower him with the last of her arrows. Under this cover, the others would withdraw.
Mattie ran to lift Findabhair in his arms, to carry her to safety. Gwen reached Finvarra who swooned against her. Dara was close behind, clutching his ravaged arm. He tried to help Katie. In a feat of sheer will, she was dragging herself over the rocks to join them. One by one the Company crawled through the cleft where the Worm couldn’t follow.
The cave was dank and dark, but there was room enough to move. Granny was the second-last to arrive, still firing from her staff. Last of all came the royal gyrfalcon, reluctant to withdraw even at the end. She perched on a narrow ledge above Gwen’s head.
A dismal silence settled over the Seven, broken only by the moans of the most wounded. Granny tore cloth from their garments to make bandages. No one was unscathed; all were battered and burned to serious degrees. But there was one who had injuries beyond the rest.
Gently the old woman laid a hand on Findabhair and stared into her eyes.
“She is dying.”
o, this can’t be happening,” said Gwen.
She gathered her cousin into her arms. Findabhair was unconscious. Gwen’s tears fell freely, and her body shook with heart-rending sobs. The falcon buried her head under its wing.
Mattie stammered his bewilderment.
“This doesn’t … It isn’t �
� It’s not what I …”
His voice trailed away. What had he expected? A glorious battle? The inevitable triumph of good over evil? Anything but this smell of burnt flesh, this distortion of limbs, these faces so tortured by suffering they were hardly recognizable. And worst of all, the cold fact of death.
Wasn’t this what every soldier discovered on going to war? That it’s not a grand thing, not even an epic tragedy, but something miserable and demeaning.
Katie stared sightlessly ahead of her, clenching her fists against the tides of pain. Would she die, too, in this dreary place? And for what reason would her life be cut off in its prime?
“Were we wrong, then, to challenge the universe?” Her voice sounded flat and hopeless. “Findabhair was the sacrifice. This can’t be a coincidence.”
Sensing the catastrophe, Finvarra struggled to come out of his swoon.
“Do not let her die!” he urged Gwen.
Gwen turned frantically to Granny.
“You have healing arts, can’t you cure her?”
“It’s possible,” the Wise Woman said. “But I need my herbs. We must get home. Can we make it to the Black Gates?”
Looks flew around the Company with the winged speed of hope. A light was kindled in each eye. Despite the desperate state of their wounds, they would make the attempt.
The decision made, they moved with the speed of a single mind.
“I’ll take Findabhair,” Gwen said. “I’m strong enough. The falcon will keep watch from above.”
“I’ll carry you,” Mattie said to Katie.
“My hero,” she grinned, with a flash of her old fire.
“You can lean on my good arm,” Dara told Finvarra, then nodded to Granny. “We can support him between us.”
The Wise Woman agreed.
“That will leave me a free hand to work my staff.”
“Let us go quickly, dear friends,” Gwen said. “The last charge of the Company of Seven. Onward to the Gates!”
“To the Gates!” they echoed.
Ready for the worst, they were not prepared for what awaited them outside the cave.
There on the dark shore lay Crom Cruac, motionless. Blood trickled from gaping wounds where once were his eyes. A hint of life was still in him, but it was faint like a shadow. Slowly, horribly, he slid toward the lake. Reaching the fringe of the water, he shuddered with great spasms till he swallowed his own tail.
Then he rolled into the tarn and sank beneath the surface.
“We have won,” Gwen said, dazed. “Let us take our wounded home.”
There was little triumph in their progress toward the Black Gates. They were in too much pain, too weak and dispirited. The nightmare of battle still darkened their thoughts. But the urgency of Findabhair’s plight spurred them on.
They were nearing the portal when they froze in new horror.
A tremor shook the still weight of the tarn, as if something huge below shuddered awake. The agitation increased, till waves slapped at the shore. As the lake convulsed, they felt its upheaval in the depths of their minds.
Up rose the Great Worm, fully healed and glistening.
Here was an Enemy who could not die.
Dare you challenge me again?
They could not be expected to rally against a newly risen foe, not one who proved to be invincible. All felt the deadening of their hearts. Wounded and broken, holding on to each other, the Company of Seven admitted defeat.
Do you surrender?
“What is your will?” Finvarra called out.
His voice was steady. Though he swayed on his feet, he broke away from the others.
As it has always been. I claim the sacrifice. A hostage must yield to me.
Katie cried out. Gwen clung to Findabhair. Dara stepped in front to block the Hunter. Mattie moved to do the same. Only Granny and Finvarra did not react.
“Why?” asked Granny.
Crom Cruac inclined his great head toward her. His eyes glittered like a galaxy of stars. His aspect was neither good nor evil. He gazed down with the disinterest of the universe itself.
Why life or why death?
The old woman shook her head.
“I accept the mysteries as they stand. It’s the particulars I question. Why you? Why this?”
Do you not know me, Wise Woman of Inch?
There was something in his voice that sent a thrill through her being.
I lie curled on the branch of the Tree of Life that bears both Faerie and your world like golden apples. Two spheres, two moons that eclipse each other, one fantasy, one reality, balanced side by side. Humanity cannot exist without its dreams, but for any dream to exist there must be a sacrifice.
A sigh issued from Granny’s throat. She had already resolved to take Findabhair’s place, and the Hunter’s words eased her mind. Having lived her life with myth and magic, she considered this a fitting end.
No, Wise Woman, it is not you I take. He knows who comes with me. For the affront of battle, I demand more than a human. Only an immortal will satisfy me now.
Finvarra stepped forward. He had already sensed the Worm’s appetite and knew what it meant.
There was no time for farewells, no parting caresses for friends or beloved. The darkness had gathered around him to stake its claim. He had to go. Drawing himself up with the last gasp of his strength, he waded into the water. Behind him trailed the ragged wings of a fallen angel.
There was nothing his companions could do. All were frozen in their place by the mesmeric stare of the Worm. Helplessly they watched as Finvarra went further, slipped deeper, into the depths of the dark water.
Sensing her love’s doom, Findabhair struggled to consciousness. A cry tore from her throat, high and wild with grief.
“Let me die with him!”
But like the dark of night itself, the Hunter was oblivious to her pleas. Silently Crom Cruac sank beneath the waves.
And so, too, did Finvarra, King of Faerie.
ow long they stood in that netherworld of despair they couldn’t be certain. The change that took place was as slow and subtle as the arrival of dawn. It was the absence of pain they registered first. Their injuries had vanished, leaving them fully restored. They were also back to their normal selves. With a pang, Gwen felt the loss of her falcon.
Then, as the morning light unveiled the landscape, they saw where they were. To their left, in the distance, rose the Knockalla Mountains. On their right was the Scalp. Ahead, across an expanse of bright water, winked the lights of Rathmullan. They were standing on the stony shore of Lough Swilly.
“We’re on Inch,” Dara uttered at last. “At the old fort.”
Granny looked gray and defeated. Her voice quavered as she spoke.
“The hostage yielded. The sacrifice was made. The night of the Hunter’s Moon has passed.”
There was no joy in finding themselves safe and returned to their world. Each suffered the deep wound of the loss of the King. Their Company was riven, their circle broken. It is difficult, indeed, to come home from the wars.
Findabhair stood cold and white as a statue. Only her eyes showed the intensity of her grief. The others gathered around her to offer support, but there was little they could do. She was inconsolable.
Gently, silently, Gwen took her hand, and they all left the fort. Bowed with sorrow, they walked without speaking, down the road that led to Granny’s.
The morning light was streaming over the island. Robins and blackbirds sang full-throated from the trees. The cry of a baby could be heard in a nearby house, as the smells of breakfast wafted through the air. They couldn’t help but reflect that, regardless of death, life carried on.
When they reached Granny’s cottage, Findabhair wouldn’t go in. Waving them quietly away, she wandered alone through the wild garden, into the woods behind.
“Leave her be,” the Wise Woman said. “Let her grieve him as she sees fit.”
“Blessed are they who mourn,” Katie whispered softly.
Deep in the woods, Findabhair found an ancient oak with wildflowers clustered at its roots. She sat down in the grass and leaned against the tree, closing her eyes. Leaf and branch sighed above her. The trailing ivy on the trunk whispered in her ear. Bees hummed in the sunshine, murmuring their secret language in an effort to soothe her. All of nature inclined toward her, for they knew the Queen of Faerie had lost her King.
In the cottage, Dara closed the curtains to signal that someone in the house had died. Katie put on the kettle for tea. Though the day was warm Mattie lit a fire in the hearth, as all of them were shivering. Death had entered their consciousness and was passing through them.
“We can’t go home yet,” Gwen said to Granny. “She wouldn’t be able, not right away.”
The old woman agreed.
“You are both welcome to stay for as long as you wish.”
Like blood kin, a family in mourning, all wanted and needed to stay together, to comfort one another.
That first long day was a blur of numb pain. Meals were made and barely touched. Long silences were broken with bursts of tears. Sometimes a merciful sleep fell on one or the other, but it only meant they woke to a fresh bout of loss.
When Findabhair returned, she would speak to no one. She sat by the fire, gazing at the forget-me-nots she clutched in her hands.
It was twilight that brought the fairies. Dusk had fallen over the fields and hedgerows. The early glimmer of stars hailed the night. First came the music, quivering on the air, dim sounds so plaintive the heart ached to hear them.
Without a word, the six rose together and left the house.
Pale flashes flickered in the sky above Dunfinn. A golden light meandered down the hill, like a shining snake in the grasses. Coming into sight, the procession moved with the languid grace of those who lived in the Dreaming. Dressed in shining raiment, they walked on foot, carrying tall lanterns. Silver banners streamed behind them. Their faces shone with an unearthly light, pale and sad and beautiful.
At the head of the column walked Midir solemnly. His red-gold hair fell to his shoulders. The star of kingship glittered on his brow. Cloaked in a mantle of green leaves, he carried a golden cup before him.
The Hunter's Moon Page 18
