The Summer King

by O. R. Melling

  She stood pale and trembling.

  It was Midir who stepped forward and bowed to her. A hush fell over the hall as he spoke in solemn tones.

  “We thank thee for all thou hast done for Faerie. By restoring the Fáinne na Gréine you have healed our land from the hurt caused by the death of the First King. And not only have you brought me into my kingship but you have given us our Queen. On this day do I declare thee a Companion of Faerie. As with all so named, thou shalt not suffer the Spell of Forgetting, and thou shalt be called again into the Kingdom. Though you have lost your sister in the Earthworld, you have not lost her in Faerie.”

  Laurel bowed her head to acknowledge his words, but couldn’t yet speak.

  Honor clapped her hands so that the music and dancing resumed in the hall.

  “All’s well that ends well,” she said with a little laugh. “I am in Faerie and, rumor tells me, you are in love?”

  Laurel flinched at her twin’s quick change of mood. She was as flighty as a fairy.

  Honor looked around the hall expectantly.

  “But where is the Summer King? Did he not accompany you?”

  Laurel couldn’t hide her anguish.

  Her sister was dismayed.

  “Have you not forgiven him? Oh El! Was he not both wicked and blameless?”

  “I … I can’t forgive him. I won’t. Not ever. And I can’t stand the sight of him. Every time I look at him, I hear him laughing as he shoots the arrow. You may be happy, but if it wasn’t for him you’d still be alive and living out your life with me.”

  Honor shook her head sadly.

  “Alas that my joy must bring you pain.”

  Despite her words, Laurel saw with a pang that her twin didn’t really understand. She was a fairy now, and felt no sorrow in the parting of death. Laurel was beginning to notice other differences; the faint shimmer of gold on her sister’s skin, the fey look in her eyes.

  Honor turned to Midir to take his arm, and together the royal couple glided over the floor. All the bright lords and ladies bowed low to the High King and High Queen of Faerie, and as they passed by, a beautiful voice sang out.

  Cónaímid i spreach solais

  Mear mar eite fáinleoige,

  Lá grianmhar is lá pianmhar.

  Ansin titeann an contráth:

  Agus eitlíonn an t-éan abhaile san oíche.

  Sheol mé long dúghorm an stuimine oir

  Thar sáile áiféalta réalta go brách,

  Thrasnaigh mé imeall tine an chaomhnóra

  Is ghaibh mé isteach sa Bhrionglóid.

  As the words shape-shifted in Laurel’s mind so that she understood them, she realized it was Honor singing.

  We live in a flicker of light

  Swift as swallows’ wings,

  A day of sunshine and pain.

  Then dusk falls:

  And the bird flies home in the evening.

  I have sailed the blue ship with the silver prow

  Over the sea of eternal stars,

  I have crossed the guardian’s rim of fire

  And passed into the Dreaming.

  With the elegy still echoing in her mind, Laurel slipped away from the ball and stepped out onto the terrace. She did not feel like dancing or feasting. The sadness enfolded her like a cloak.

  The sun was rising on the horizon, tinting the sky a rosy gold. Midsummer’s Eve was over and the dawn of the summer solstice had come. Behind her, the music and revelry grew mute. Only now did Laurel acknowledge that a full year had passed since her sister’s death. There was no going back. Her twin would never return.

  The days of quiet mourning had begun.

  t was early morning. The promenade of Bray beach was deserted. A pale mist crept over the sea’s surface as the sun began to warm the waters. The tide was receding. The sand was strewn with seaweed and torqued pieces of drift-wood. As the waves retreated, pebbles clinked together with a musical rhythm. A lone heron stood in the shallows, its wings folded like an old man with his hands in his pockets, its feathers tinged with red. Letting out a squawk, it took to the air and flew toward Bray Head. The cluricaun? Laurel followed his flight till he disappeared beyond the cliffs.

  Her way of looking at the world had changed forever. There was so much more to life than what met the eye. It was a truth she cherished, a consolation for all that she had lost and may yet lose. And though it inspired in her a longing for an existence beyond her, she accepted the longing itself as a reminder of the truth.

  That morning, she had gone into her grandfather’s library to place the golden feather in one of his books. She chose a collection of poetry by W. B. Yeats and found a page with a poem that she liked.

  Come away, O human child!

  To the waters and the wild

  With a faery, hand in hand,

  For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

  She was just about to close the book when she glanced over at the fireplace. There sat the cluricaun in his old red suit, puffing on his pipe.

  “It was my Granda who first bound the Summer King, wasn’t it?”

  The cluricaun nodded.

  “Is that why Honor and I were chosen for the mission?”

  “Yes and no. Ye might call it the Faerie version of the oul Grandfather Paradox. Do ye know it?”

  She didn’t.

  “Bit of a head stagger,” he said. “If ye go back in time and kill your grandfather before he met your grandmother, then ye could never have been born, so therefore ye couldn’t have gone back in time. Got that?”

  “Almost,” she admitted.

  “Well, your mission and his is the same difference. But do ye really need to know the whole story? I never could agree with people that want every happening sorted out and explained. Where’s the mystery in that? Where’s the magic?”

  Laurel recognized the shifty look in his eyes.

  “I like things explained,” she said evenly. “Just give me the facts.”

  The cluricaun wriggled in his chair.

  “You’ve got to keep in mind, we were workin’ in the dark. We knew the king had been banished for his crimes, but the who and the where were unbeknownst. We went lookin’ for the human that did the job, and bejapers it took a while. ’Twas the golden feather tipped us off to your grandfather. But we were slow to cop on to Ian, more’s the pity, and by the time we did, he had nicked the feather and scarpered for Achill. That was the Summer King’s plan, ye see. His scáth was born near your Granda, and he had only to wait for the right time to act. Ian himself knew nothin’ about the king, but was always under his sway and sufferin’ because of it.”

  The little man paused as if expecting Laurel to say something about Ian, but she didn’t. She would never be one who spoke freely about her personal life, especially the painful parts.

  “To begin at the beginning,” he resumed. “’Twas a dark day, that Midsummer’s Eve, when the Queen of Clan Egli was murdered and the Temple of the Birds destroyed. It all happened so fast, Faerie was shook to the core. Finvarra, the High King at the time, went to Laheen in his eyrie and swore to punish the culprit.

  “There was many in the Court wanted him kilt and be done with it, but Finvarra didn’t like to lose the Ring of the Sun forever. He was never in a hurry to let go of a good thing. And here’s the bit of the story that we only know now, since our new High King came into his own.

  “’Twas agreed between Finvarra and Laheen that the Summer King would be imprisoned, and the last of the Fir-Fia-Caw would be his jailers. The Old Eagle gave Finvarra one of Ular’s feathers to vanquish the king in her name. He also told Finvarra about a family on Achill who had the same claim against the Summer King, for his arrow would kill one of their own.”

  Laurel frowned, unsure of what she was hearing.

  “Finvarra was pleased with the news. He was always a belt-and-braces man, and liked to get two for the price of one. To counter the power of the Summer King were two things to bind him: the Queen�
�s feather and the kin-blood of the slain. On top of that, the job would be done by a mortal, in the high tradition of Faerie.”

  “Wait a minute,” she interrupted, her mind spinning. “Are you saying they knew in the past that Honor would die in the future?”

  The cluricaun nodded reluctantly.

  Angry tears pricked Laurel’s eyes. This was a betrayal she couldn’t have expected.

  “Why did Laheen let it happen?” she demanded. “Why didn’t he stop the Summer King?”

  The cluricaun heaved a deep sigh.

  “Rare are the times the Old Ones intervene in the worlds, and when they do, ’tis only for the good of all. Yet it is told in the tale of the Doom of Clan Egli that when Ular came out of Faerie to be his bride, Laheen warned her that she would die one day at the hand of his enemy, and he bade her return to her homeland. But she who loved him chose her own destiny to be the Queen of Clan Egli and Mother of the Birds, and long and glorious was her reign till the hour of her death.”

  “At least she had a choice,” Laurel said bitterly. “No one warned Honor!”

  The little man’s look was sympathetic, but he shook his head.

  “That isn’t true, girseach, and well you know it. Didn’t Midir himself try to dissuade her from the path, though he knew nothing of her fate? One way or another, all are warned who enter the Perilous Realm.”

  She knew he was right, but she didn’t want to admit it. She would have argued further if her grandfather hadn’t walked into the room.

  “Oh,” he said, looking around. “You’re alone. I thought I heard voices.”

  The cluricaun began making faces at Granda. Laurel’s anger dissipated and she had to stifle a laugh.

  Her grandfather spotted the golden feather jutting out from the book in her hand.

  “You found it!”

  “Yes, I did,” she murmured, offering it to him.

  He placed it reverently to his lips.

  “Who gave it to you, Granda?” she asked, curious to see what he would say.

  He frowned a moment, and looked a little lost.

  “It was a long time ago …”

  He moved toward the chair where the cluricaun was seated, and the little man disappeared with a last wink to Laurel. Sitting down, Granda gazed thoughtfully at the feather.

  “I’ve never told anyone this before, but I’ve always believed that I was taken by the fairies when I was young. I don’t have much to go on, only impressions and fleeting images, as if from an old story or an old dream. When I try to catch hold of it, it disappears like mist in the sunshine.” He smiled a little sadly. “It was a beautiful story, a beautiful dream, and I have been chasing it all my life. That’s why I chose, as a young man, to study folklore at the university and not law, as my father wished me to do.”

  He let out a deep sigh.

  “It will come back to you one day,” Laurel assured him quietly.

  He looked at her fondly and nodded.

  “As your grandmother would say, hope burns eternal in the human heart.”

  Laurel continued along the promenade, refreshed by the breezes that blew across the sea. Turning her face to the sky, she felt the light kiss of the sun. Soon she would leave Ireland, even as she had left Achill, and the shadow of many partings hung over her.

  It was after she had said farewell to Honor that Laurel wandered into the palace gardens newly bright with morning. Stepping out of her golden slippers, she walked barefoot across the lawns toward the maze. The grass was cool and damp with dew. As she entered the green shadows of the labyrinth, she inhaled the perfume of leaves and flowers. Remembering the solution from the view above, she navigated the winding pathways till she reached the center. And there at the heart of the puzzle, in the gazebo made of living birch, he waited for her.

  He wore a light-blue tunic trimmed with silver, and a dark-blue mantle pinned with a brooch in the shape of a flame. The raven-black hair fell to his shoulders, bound with a circlet of sapphires. The features were Ian’s—the blue eyes, pale skin, and full red mouth—but the torment and anger were gone. His face was kingly and serene.

  “Lady, art thou well?”

  Torn by too many warring emotions, she could hardly speak. Her eyes rested on the brooch.

  “You’re the Summer King.”

  He took a moment to respond and when he did, he sounded as heavy-hearted as she.

  “I am Ian but, yes, I am also the king. Yet his fiery nature which did such harm is bound inside me. I can contain it. I am stronger now … thanks to you.”

  She remained silent.

  He pressed on.

  “I wish you to know that I will remain in Hy Brasil. My people have welcomed the change in me. I will do my best to redeem my kingdom and to restore what I can to those I have wronged.”

  She couldn’t stop herself.

  “You’re leaving our world?”

  “I was never happy there. I did not belong. Strangely enough, or perhaps not so, I always felt that my real home, my true life, was elsewhere. There is nothing to hold me to the Earthworld.”

  She heard the edge in his voice, the unasked question, but she ignored it.

  “What about your parents?” she said, instead.

  “I brought only pain into their lives. They will recover from their loss and be all the happier for it.”

  She knew in her heart it was wrong. Her whole being cried out against it. But still she didn’t speak.

  The labyrinth was already dissolving around her when he bade her farewell.

  And then they were no longer in the palace gardens on Hy Brasil.

  They were in the sea beyond Achill Head.

  It was a shock of murderous wet and cold, white foam and icy water. Laurel’s instincts acted instantly to save her. Though her soaked jeans were weighing her down, she kicked off her shoes and thrashed against the waves to keep afloat.

  Ian was nearby, flailing wildly.

  The Lady of Doona was just beyond them. Gracie was spinning the wheel, shouting frantically to her passengers to keep their heads up. A freak wave had washed them overboard.

  Now Laurel heard Ian repeat his last words, just before he sank.

  “Fare thee well, beloved.”

  She tread the freezing water, hanging on by sheer will. Long moments to survive before Gracie could come. Moments that seemed to stretch forever. She knew what was happening. She understood what he was doing. He had to die in one world to live fully in the other.

  The knowledge struck her heart like an arrow.

  “NO!”

  She dove beneath the water.

  If I have not love, I am nothing.

  Desperately she searched the shadowy depths. There, at last, she spied him. Sinking like a stone. Too far. Too deep.

  She had to surface for breath, gasping wildly, sucking in as much air as possible.

  Then she dove again.

  Love is patient. Love is kind.

  There he was, a blur in the darkness, falling downward. Though the Summer King knew how to swim, Ian was making no effort to save himself.

  It bears all things.

  Her lungs were bursting. Soon she would pass the point of no return, but she continued to swim downward. Now she reached out to grasp his hand. Their fingertips brushed.

  He looked up in surprise.

  Her body writhed with pain. Lights were exploding behind her eyes. She had come too far. She was drowning.

  Love never fails.

  He kicked his legs fiercely and caught her on his way up, surging through the water with all the strength at his command. They broke the waves together.

  Love is as strong as death.

  After Gracie had hauled them into the boat, they huddled together, wrapped in blankets. Their teeth chattered, their lips were purple, their hair was flattened against their skulls.

  “It was my right to go home,” he murmured, though with no real force.

  Her voice shook from the cold as she argued with him.

/>   “Your kingdom can wait. You were born into this world. It’s your duty to live here.”

  “Are we ever going to agree on anything?” he said, managing to grin.

  She took his hands and held them tightly.

  “Life isn’t as magical here, and you’re not the only one who feels like you don’t belong, or that it’s better somewhere else. But there are things worth living for. And the best part is you never know what’s going to happen next.”

  She lifted his fingers to her lips.

  The blue eyes of Faerie stared into hers.

  “Eejit,” he said softly.

  They were kissing each other when Gracie stuck her head out of the wheelhouse.

  “Keep it up! Heats the blood!”

  Laurel grinned to herself as she left the promenade and crossed the road, walking toward the street where Ian lived. Her smile widened when she remembered how his mother looked that first day he returned; when her son lifted her up in a bear hug. Behind them, the minister’s face had crumpled as if all his prayers had been answered.

  The change in Laurel was obvious, too. Though still in mourning, she was lighter and happier, more at peace with herself.

  Only Nannaflor expressed no surprise.

  “I always said those two would be good for each other,” she pointed out to everyone.

  Laurel was still lost in her memories when she heard the motorcycle behind her.

  As Ian drew up alongside, she saw, for a moment, a dark-blue chariot with fiery wings.

  He removed his helmet and caught her around the waist to pull her close.

  “I got fed up waiting for you,” he said.

  She laughed and kissed him. Then he handed her the spare helmet. Before she climbed on the bike, she asked the question she had been wondering about.

  “Is your name ‘Ian’ in Hy Brasil? I mean, is it the Summer King’s name?”