The Lady sounded distressed.
The invisible hands were more insistent now, dragging her over rock and through nettles and briar. As she crashed through a clump of fraughan bushes the bilberries burst, staining her clothes and skin red. Dana didn’t object. Panic coursed through her. She had to get to the top. She had to reach safety.
She was almost at the summit when life returned to the park. Like the roar of a wave, the sounds broke over her—the rush of the waterfall, the chatter of birds, the cries of children playing. The invisible hands were gone. The Lady stood above her, extending a slender arm to help her onto the ledge.
“Something’s after me!” Dana said, gasping for breath.
The Lady peered down the slope with a frown. “I feel I know this thing and yet I do not. What can this import?”
Despite her manner of speech, she looked like a normal young woman in khaki shorts and a halter top, with leather sandals on her feet. A blond ponytail jutted from the back of her white baseball cap, and she wore stylish sunglasses.
“I have sent the others to investigate,” she continued, “but it has already taken flight.”
Though her voice was calm, she looked worried.
“What—?” Dana began, but stopped when a cry rang out below.
“Dana! Where are you?”
It was Gabe. He sounded surprised.
“That’s me Da,” she said with a pang.
The Lady drew her quickly away from the ridge and into the woods beyond the waterfall. Her grip was firm, reminding Dana of the invisible hands.
Gabriel’s shouts were coming faster now, echoing that mix of concern and annoyance peculiar to parents.
Dana stopped to look back.
The Lady’s grasp loosened as she, too, stopped to listen. A wistfulness came over her features. “I had a father once …” Then she bit her lip. “This is all wrong.” She shook her head. “What am I doing? How can I send you into the mountains alone? How can I put you in peril?”
Now Dana was the one who was doing the pulling. She clutched the young woman’s arm and hurried her through the trees. Behind them, Aradhana had begun to call too and Gabriel’s cries were growing more frantic. She had to escape them. It wouldn’t be long before they tried to climb the ridge. Any misgivings Dana had were dissolved by the Lady’s wavering. The fear of losing her wish made her all the more adamant.
“You can’t back out now! This was your idea! You got me into this!”
Deeper in the woods, beyond earshot of Gabe’s cries, Dana slowed down.
“Yes, it is my fault.” The Lady’s sigh was like a breeze in the branches overhead. “I have lured you to this. And when I’m like … Them … I don’t have a problem with it. That’s just the way things are done. They use mortals for their own ends without thinking about it. Yet I have human feelings sometimes.”
They had come to the heart of the wood. The Lady linked arms with Dana in a more casual manner. Dana noticed how the briars and brambles gave way before them. Deer peeked shyly from behind the trees. An otter slid from the riverbank and into the water. The air was filled with trills as songbirds swooped around them in arabesques of flight. When they passed a clump of wild rose, a flurry of pink petals showered their path.
At first her companion seemed oblivious to their surroundings. Then Dana glimpsed something different at the corner of her eye: a vision of the Lady in a flowing green gown and a crown of white flowers, waving graciously to all around her.
But it was an ordinary young woman who argued with her.
“Look, you’re just a kid. I should find someone else to do the job. Someone older. It’s usually teenagers who go on these missions.”
Dana almost choked. She recognized the tone in the older girl’s voice, the same one her father had used when he told her they were going to Canada. The finality of the adult who held all the power; the certainty that they knew best. A rebellious fury surged through her.
“You made a pact! You promised! I want my wish and I’ll do anything to get it. I’m nearly thirteen. I’m as good as any teenager. You can’t take this away from me!”
The Lady hesitated. It was obvious she wanted to be convinced. “The High King says you are the one … He says mortals always underestimate their young.”
“He’s right!” Dana insisted. “We can always do more, just no one lets us. I can do this! I know I can!”
The Lady looked no happier. They had reached the edge of the forest. As they stepped from the trees, they looked out over a landscape of heathered hills that swelled into the distance like a green grassy ocean. They had arrived at the threshold of the Wicklow Mountains.
And the way was barred.
A great gray standing stone blocked their path. The monolith was scored with a hieroglyphic script that curved like the hills themselves.
The Lady rested her hand upon the stone.
“It declares the borders of the Mountain Kingdom closed. There are more around the perimeter. How long they have stood here we do not know. The mountain folk are a solitary people and rarely mingle with the High Court or the rest of fairy-kind. There are spells on the stones to keep intruders out, but even if there weren’t, we would defer to their wishes. Every kingdom in Faerie sets its own laws.”
She gazed into the distance.
“Do you know of the mountain called Lugnaquillia?”
“The highest in the chain,” Dana said, nodding. “Da and I climbed it last summer.”
The Lady looked pleased, and a little relieved.
“Lugnaquillia is the site of the palace of our Tánaiste, Lugh of the Mountain, Lugh of the Wood.”
Dana blenched. From where they stood, Lugnaquillia was at the farthest point of the range, beyond many peaks and valleys. It would take days to get there. And that meant she would have to spend nights in the mountains alone. A hard task for anyone, never mind a twelve-year-old who didn’t have a tent or enough provisions.
“Right, I’m off to Lugnaquillia,” she said, with forced heartiness. She couldn’t let the Lady see her fear. The mission was already hanging on a knife-edge. “To find Lugh of the Mountain, Lugh of the Wood. What’s the message?”
Looking anxious again, the Lady frowned at Dana.
Dana held her breath, doing her best to appear relaxed and unconcerned.
The Lady spoke carefully.
“A shadow of the Destroyer has entered the land. Where is the light to bridge the darkness?”
Dana was baffled.
“What does it mean?” she asked, a quaver in her voice.
“The Tánaiste will know. The message is for him. Your mission is simply to carry it to him.”
But the Lady’s unease was peaking. Her eyes were dark with concern.
Dana shivered, feeling suddenly cold. Slipping off her knapsack, she took out her anorak and pulled it on.
The older girl began to fuss over her, tightening the hood on Dana’s head and tucking in stray strands of hair.
“Keep your ears covered. The winds will be colder out in the open. Have you brought food and drink? Travel always westward. Into the setting sun.”
“I know what to do,” Dana said, backing away from her. “I’m all right.”
She wanted to leave immediately, before the other could change her mind.
The Lady brightened suddenly.
“Wait, I almost forgot! I can give you something! It’s tradition. A special gift. To help you on your way.”
Dana half expected her to produce a Swiss Army knife from the pockets of her khaki shorts; but instead it was a little golden box with a jeweled clasp. Inside was a red pomade that smelled of apples.
“Close your eyes,” the Lady said. As she dabbed the sweet-smelling balm onto Dana’s eyelids, she explained its use. “This will let you see what mortals cannot. Your eyes will pierce the veil that cloaks our world. You will know that Faerie is all around you. And those who think they are hidden will be made visible, yet they will assume you are blind. This w
ill give you time to judge friend from foe.”
A chill ran through Dana. There would be other enemies besides the shadow she had spoken of? It wasn’t a question Dana could raise, for fear that the older girl would get upset again. She was clutching Dana’s hands, reluctant to let her go.
“Okay, I’m off!” said Dana, breaking away. “Goodbye!”
And hurrying down the trail that led into the mountains, she didn’t stop to look back till she was some distance away.
There stood the Lady in the shade of the forest with boughs of oak leaves overhead like a green canopy. Her gown shimmered with dappled light. Her long fair hair was wreathed in white hawthorn.
“My blessings go with you,” she called out in a silvery voice. “May you be of good courage as you follow the greenway.”
iding deep inside its human host, the demon returned to track the Bright One unbeknownst to her. It suspected she was its prey, for it could sense the power beneath her mortal guise. Crawling through the greenery like a serpent, it dared to draw near. Thus it heard of the mission and the message.
Where is the light to bridge the darkness?
The words caused a storm of confusion. The Bright One herself sought something more powerful! Doubt needled its tortured mind. Was she not the one it was sent to destroy? She spoke of a King. Was he the light? Or the key to the light? And what of the child?
It lay in the understory, gnawing on its thoughts like a starving beast who had unearthed a pile of bones. The child must die before she warned the King. And then the King. But not before it had torn from him what it needed to know. One way or another, the light would be extinguished.
Devising the plan helped to cool its feverish brain. Caution was essential. It was not yet strong enough for open battle. There was also the struggle with the one it possessed. Despite their dark kinship, their wills did not meld.
Hours passed before it crept from the shadows of the trees. As it approached the marker that declared the borders closed, it hesitated for only the briefest of moments. Then it passed the great stone and set out on the road into the Mountain Kingdom.
ana stepped gingerly along the hiker’s trail that wound through the Wicklow Mountains. The great hills rolled all around her, like great mottled beasts lolling in the sunshine. To her right rose the pointed peak of Djouce Mountain, its purple flanks of heather brindled with gray stone. Ahead lay the wooded vale of Lough Tay in the shadow of Luggala and beyond it, the glen of Lough Dan below Knocknacloghoge. It would take her the rest of the day to reach Lough Dan and that was only a third of her journey. She stopped to study the map she carried in her knapsack. So many mountains to climb, valleys to cross, lakes and forests to pass! And she had to avoid populated areas and the paths more commonly used by hill-walkers. Once the alarm went up that she was missing, there would be search parties and rescue teams. She would have to skulk and hide.
It wasn’t going to be easy.
Though she had set out bravely, she was already despondent. Hiking alone was no fun. She and Gabe had always gone with their local hill-walking group. Many were amateur naturalists who used magnifying glasses to peer at miniature wildflowers and the lichen on rocks. They would ask her the Irish names of trees and plants as she was the only one fluent in the language. An cuileann. The holly tree. An dair ghaelach. The Irish oak. Méiríní sídhe. Foxglove or fairy-fingers. Méaracán gorm. The same name for both bluebells and harebells. And when they sat down on the hillsides to eat their lunch, everyone shared whatever they had brought—hot tea or cocoa from steaming thermoses, every kind of sandwich, crisps and fruit, sweets and chocolate.
She began to yearn for company. The vast solitude of the landscape was overwhelming and she soon suffered from lonesomeness and a slow, creeping unease. Now the mountains seemed like sullen giants, brooding over her. She tried not to think of the thing at the waterfall; tried not to wonder if it was out there somewhere. Watching her. Hunting her. She kept looking over her shoulder. Nature was beautiful when you felt safe within it. When you didn’t, it was terrifying.
She had deliberately taken one of the trails less traveled, crossing the uplands. Even if she was able to convince any adults that she was fine on her own, it would only be a matter of time before they contacted Gabe. She flinched whenever she thought of her father. The state he must be in. She hated to think of him making countless phone calls, rounding up their friends, searching the mountains … going crazy. She had tried to write him a note, but couldn’t think of what to say that would make any sense to him or ease his mind. I’m away with the fairies. They’ve promised me a wish. If I get it, I’ll come back with Mum.
If I get it …
And there was no point telling him where she had gone. He would only come after her and ruin any chance of her getting that wish.
She quickened her pace. Wasn’t she doing this for him as well as for herself? Once she brought back his wife to him, it would make everything worthwhile, even the pain.
Dana had been walking for several hours when she spotted a vague shape on the path ahead: a humped figure on a stone in the midst of thorny briars. For a moment her heart jumped, and she thought of running away, then she recognized who it was. The old lady from the Hanuman House in Bray. She ran to meet her.
“Here I am! Like you said!”
The beady eyes were the same, dark and merry, but the face seemed to have grown more whiskers.
The old woman smiled and cocked her head.
“Do you hear it, mo leanbh? Éist nóiméad.”
Dana did as she was told and listened a moment. She had grown used to the wind hawing through the mountains, but now she also heard a low booming note.
“How I have longed to hear that sound,” the old lady said. “The song of the bittern. She was driven from the bogs by hunters and drainage, but she has come back. Not all that is gone is gone forever.”
Her words were reassuring.
“Go raibh míle maith agat,” Dana thanked her.
The whiskery face crinkled with laughter.
“You have good manners, for a motherless child. Let me guide you on your way. Hurry up this hill as fast as your feet can carry you, with a heart as wild as the hearts of birds, and you will find a splendid surprise. Hind’s feet in high places.”
Though Dana didn’t really understand, she loved surprises and she loved to run.
“Thanks again!” she called behind her, as off she raced.
Dana took the steep track that wound through the bracken. Patches of pink foxglove waved her on. At one point a lone hawthorn tree, stooped and twisted by the winds, offered her a friendly branch to pull herself up. She hurried without thinking, filled with an inexplicable excitement. Her heart beat rapidly, as wild as a bird’s, and when she reached the top, breathless, she gasped with delight.
They stiffened at her arrival. Heads up, ears pricked, soft eyes staring, antlers branching: a great herd of wild deer.
She could see they were shy and a little nervous, yet they didn’t bolt. She stood still herself, not wanting to startle them. One of the does ventured forward and nuzzled her hand. The others followed after and Dana was surrounded by a wild sweet smell as they jostled her gently. She sensed they were about to run and that they wanted her to run with them.
“Not sure I can,” she murmured anxiously.
Then they breathed on her, their warm green grassy breath, and a whisper echoed through her mind. Follow the greenway. She felt a tingling in her legs. Her muscles began to twitch. Her feet pushed her upward till she was standing on her tiptoes. Now the knowledge surged through her like the green sap of spring: she could be one of them.
Oh the joy of running with the deer! Hind’s feet in high places. Supple pelts rippled alongside her, rising and falling like tawny waves. Hooves drummed and thrummed upon the earth. All ran with one mind as if of one body. At the heart of the herd, she too ran wildly, her humanity shed like clothes in the wind. She was still two-legged, but her feet were cloven and antl
ers jutted from her brow, and her heart beat with the wild heart of the herd.
Up the airy mountain and down the rushy glen.
The landscape blurred around them with the speed of their passing. Hurtling downhill in a blind descent, they kicked up stones and soil behind them. Now they plunged into a dark forest of oak and birch, weaving around the trees like a brown mountain stream. Then out again and into a green valley, splashing up the Cloghoge River. The blue water of Lough Tay gleamed ahead. Over it loomed the high cliffs of Luggala. Dana could never have scaled that talus of scree alone, yet up it she sped, along with the others, hind’s feet in high places, scattering the loose stones in a cloud of gray dust.
Over the open summit of Luggala they charged and down its western slope, then upward again in another ascent. It wasn’t till they reached the top of Knocknacloghoge that the herd finally halted. Pressing against Dana, they butted her gently to say good-bye.
“Thank you, thank you,” she kept repeating, already saddened at their parting.
Then the deer sped off down the hillside, the way they had come.
As Dana looked around her, she saw how far the herd had brought her and almost cried with gratitude. They had done in an hour what would have taken her the day. But now as she gazed into the west, toward her destination, she felt a cold grip on the back of her neck. What was that on the horizon?
Shielding her eyes against the sunlight, she squinted into the distance. For a moment she could hardly believe what she saw. Then she remembered the Lady’s pomade and knew that it was working. For there amidst the granite spine of the highlands was the silhouette of a sleeping giant. The gigantic body was made of rock and earth, covered with blanket bog. Its face was craggy, yet it did not seem unkind. Was this King Lugh? His head rested against Lugnaquillia as if it were a pillow. But if it was he, what could have made him close his borders and lie down among the mountains?
Even as she studied the sleeping giant, he underwent a change. Storm clouds gathered in the sky above him, making his features look dark and strained. As rain poured down, streams of water ran over his face as if he were weeping. Then the clouds moved on and sunshine broke out and he smiled in his sleep. Dana was bewildered. Was she imagining it all?
The Light-Bearer's Daughter Page 6
