Dana let out a cry. The wolf’s body had vanished too.
Frenzied with grief, not knowing what she did, she ran to the spot where her guardian had died.
Mama. Mama.
She fell to the ground once more.
“Where have you gone?” she wept. “Where are you?”
The gentle touch of a hand on her shoulder brought Dana back. A quiet voice spoke.
Hear my cry, O God,
Listen to my prayer:
From the ends of the earth,
I cry unto thee.
When my heart is faint,
Lead me to the rock,
That is higher than I,
For you are my refuge.
She looked up. He was a young man, barely out of his teens, dressed in deerskin vest and leggings, with his arms and feet bare. The dark curly hair fell in tangles to his shoulders. His skin was brown from sun and wind. But though he looked a little wild, he wasn’t frightening. A light shone in the gray eyes that regarded her kindly, and his features were serene. She knew who he was—the saint of Glendalough.
Kevin spoke to her in Irish.
“A dheirfiúr bhig,” he said softly. “My little sister. What has broken your heart?”
“Brother,” she said, dissolving into fresh tears. “I have lost my …” the word that best described the wolf came easily in her mother tongue, “… anamchara. I have lost my soul friend.”
Kevin helped her to her feet, but she was weak and shaky. The days of wandering in the mountains had taken their toll; the twists and turns of her strange adventures, the fitful meals, the sleeping rough. And now the devastating loss of her dearest companion. She was ill and in anguish.
He led her into the beehive cell that was sparsely furnished but clean and dry. It was for guests, he explained. He himself lived in a cave overlooking the lake.
Dana lay down on the sweet-smelling rushes, and a woolen blanket was placed over her. Kevin brought her a bowl of soup with a chunk of wheaten bread. She couldn’t speak but she sipped on the hot broth. He tended her quietly, the way Gabriel did when she got sick. Dana burst into tears again. She wanted her dad. She wanted to go home.
“Sleep, child, it will ease your pain,” he promised her. “I shall go and pray for you.”
When Dana fell asleep, she fell into a nightmare.
She was running with the wolf again. Hunters and poachers pursued them with guns. A shot rang out. The bullet pierced her flesh. She cried out in agony.
Now the young saint entered her dream. He stood on the shore, where the lake water lapped against the stones. His arms were open.
Come, sister wolf, I grant you sanctuary.
Dana and the wolf leaped into his embrace. He held them both as they lay dying.
Tá tú ag imeacht ar shlí na fírinne.
You are going on the way of truth.
When Dana woke, her face was wet with tears, but she felt rested and stronger. Had she slept for days? Leaving the little house, she stepped into the brightness of a sunny morning. The snow on the mountains dazzled her. She shielded her eyes with her hands. And that was when she saw him. Kevin stood waist-deep in the icy lake. Arms outstretched, eyes closed, he turned his face to the sun as he prayed out loud.
Fada an lá go sámh,
Fada an oíche gan ghruaim,
An ghealach, an ghrian, an ghaoth,
Moladh duit, a Dhia.
Long is the day with peace,
Long is the night without gloom,
Thou art the moon, the sun, the wind,
I praise you, my God.
As he spoke, ripples broke the calm surface of the water. To Dana’s horror, a monster rose up from the depths, green and scaly, with a reptilian body and a horse-shaped head. Coiling and curling, it twisted around the saint till they were face-to-face.
Dana was about to scream, then stopped.
Kevin had opened his eyes and was smiling at the beast. A beatific smile. He leaned toward the serpent and rested his brow against its forehead: a gesture as light and affectionate as a kiss. The two remained that way for an eternal heartbeat, like a zoomorphic design in an ancient manuscript. Then the monster slid back under the water.
Catching sight of Dana, Kevin waded out of the lake. Though his lips were blue with the cold and his teeth chattered, he made no effort to dry himself.
Dana was still amazed.
“The old stories say you fought the péist and banished it to the Upper Lake. But you are friends!”
He laughed, the carefree laugh of a young man.
“The truth is twisted in many a tale. I carried the creature upon my back from the Lower to the Upper Lake, not to vanquish him but to keep him out of harm’s way. They would have hunted him down and killed him.”
The saint gazed over the water.
“He is something old, very old, but he is not the enemy. We are the ones who make him evil.”
When Dana looked confused, the saint explained: “Each of us has a ‘monster’ inside. If we do not find it in ourselves and make peace with it, we cast it out into the world and make war with it there. Blessed are the peace-makers, for everything monstrous is, at heart, something that needs to be loved.”
They were walking around the lower shore of the Upper Lake. The wooded cliffs towered over them on every side, quilled with the wintry silhouettes of birch and oak. Against the white of the snow, great holly trees painted splashes of green and red. Across the lake, a deer stopped on the high ridge to regard them. A rust-colored fox darted out of view.
“You will face your monster soon, little sister,” Kevin said quietly. “No one can save you from this. None of us may be kept from the truth; it is an appointment we meet either in life or at death.”
Dana shuddered as some dark thing heaved in the depths of her mind before returning to its slumber. Yet the monster within was not the only one she feared.
“But something evil is chasing me,” she told him. “I don’t even know if it’s human or fairy. What can I do?”
Kevin stopped a moment and closed his eyes. His lips moved wordlessly in prayer. Then he opened his eyes again.
“When you make peace with your own monster, you diminish evil’s power—over yourself and in the world.”
“What?”
Dana’s tone made it clear that she was hardly reassured.
Kevin sighed. “In time you will understand my words, but know this: the evil you speak of is not new to the world. It has been here before, sowing darkness to aid some greater design. You will play your part against it, but you are safe for now. Your enemy believes it has killed you, since the wolf died in your place.”
Dana let out a cry of guilt and grief.
He laid his hand on her shoulder.
“You must accept her gift. Her sacrifice. Her love for you.”
She nodded, even as the tears fell.
He didn’t try to stop her from crying, but kept his arm around her shoulders as they walked together.
They came to the Poulanass Waterfall which tumbled down the ridge of Derrybawn. Kevin dipped his hand into the waters to wipe her tear-stained face. His care and concern steadied her.
“Don’t you get lonely?” she asked him. “Here all by yourself?”
He looked a little abashed.
“I will confess to you. This is no hardship for me. I am not very good amongst my own kind. I fled the monastery where I was made a monk. It is easier to live with the birds and animals. Humanity is too loud and fractious for me.”
“Birds fight too,” she pointed out, “and loudly!”
Kevin laughed in agreement, yet it seemed that the birds around him didn’t fight. Several different kinds were perched on his shoulders, chirping away happily. Mimicking their calls, he spoke to them and stroked their heads. Dana was suddenly reminded of the eco-warriors in the Glen of the Downs, all the young bearded men who were so passionate and idealistic.
“Thanks for being here,” she said, and gave him a hug.
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He blushed.
It was time for them to part.
“Climb this hill and go through the forest beyond,” he directed her. “Travel northwest over the peak of Lugduff. There is another valley you must cross, the Glenmalure, but by then you will be in sight of Lugnaquillia. You must reach it today, little sister, for it is Lá Lughnasa.”
Dana was halfway up the ridge when she turned to wave a last farewell.
Below stood Kevin, his arms outstretched like a human cross. In each hand a blackbird was making her nest. At his feet curled a badger and her cubs. Dana’s heart swelled. First the guardian of the Faolan clan and then the saint of Wicklow County; the gods of her father’s people had answered her cry. Once again she acknowledged that there was more to her quest than simply carrying a message and gaining a wish.
Was she ready to face what it was leading her to?
ana was nearing the top of the ridge when she found herself back in her own time. The forest around her was less wild and overgrown. She was standing on wooden steps that bordered the waterfall. Around her were crowds of people. Like returning swallows, the summer visitors had flocked to Glendalough. Families and tourists, young and old, foreign and Irish, they strolled through the ruins, around the two lakes, and up past the waterfall. Fifteen hundred years later, people still came to Kevin!
No one had noticed her arrival. Everyone was staring at the sky. Dark clouds roiled menacingly. The air grew chill. Gusts of wind shook the trees. As the first spatters of rain fell, everyone charged for cover, down the steps and toward the Visitors’ Center.
Except Dana, who ran into the woods.
The trees creaked around her. Branches thrashed about. The rain poured down in sheets. This was not good, not good at all. Summer storms could be disastrous in the mountains, causing flash floods. She had to reach Lugnaquillia before the day ended. How could she travel in this weather? Lightning flashed overhead. The first roll of thunder grumbled. At least she knew where she was going. The marked pathways of the Wicklow Way led directly from Derrybawn to the peak of Lugduff. Hood pulled over her face, cloak wrapped tightly, she hurried along the trail.
Barging blindly through the rain, Dana didn’t see the small creature scurry in front of her until it was too late. They crashed into each other and fell together onto the muddy ground.
Despite her shock, Dana recognized immediately what had tripped her up. She jumped to her feet and grabbed hold of the boggle. Maintaining a firm grip, she looked quickly around.
“Where are the others? Are they hiding? Leave me alone! All of you!”
“You leaves me alone! Why’s you grabbing me?”
The voice was the first clue. Higher and lighter. Then the dress. Though sodden and soiled, it had puffed sleeves and a little petticoat.
“You’re a girl!” said Dana, amazed.
“Course I’s a girl!” She was obviously offended. “Ivy’s my name. Could I be’s anything else?”
Of course she couldn’t. Though she had the same rounded shape as the boy boggles and the webbed feet, she had curls of green hair like fiddlehead fern. The big eyes that shone gold in the gloom had long lashes like a doll’s.
“Let me go,” Ivy pleaded. “I must keeps going before the storm be’s worse!”
Dana maintained her hold, unsure what to do. The wind raged around them, flaying them with rain. They were both soaked to the skin.
“Why should I? After what the boggles did to me!”
Ivy looked surprised, then concerned.
“Hast the boys been bold? I knew they’d gets up to mischief without us! What hast they done?”
She looked so sincerely distraught that Dana released her. The girl boggle didn’t run away, but stood her ground and waited for Dana’s answer.
“They kidnapped me and put me in a hole.”
Ivy’s eyes went huge.
“Oh, what coulds make them be that bad?!”
“I … I don’t know,” said Dana, through chattering teeth. After what had happened the last time, she wasn’t about to mention her mission.
Ivy stared at Dana, disbelief and uncertainty rife in her features. The golden eyes glowed with intelligence.
They were both struggling to stay upright in the wind.
“There be’s something wrong here,” Ivy said finally. “I needs to know what. There be’s one in this forest, old and wise. I thinks it best we goes to see her, you and me.”
It was Dana’s turn to be suspicious; but there was something about the girl boggle she liked. Besides, the storm was growing worse. She wouldn’t get very far on her own. She needed help.
“Okay.”
The storm was whipping itself into a frenzy. Trees leaned backward under the force of the gale. The rain fell sideways. After slipping and sliding on the wet ground, the two girls clasped hands as they made their way through the woods.
At last Ivy stopped in front of an ancient oak. It appeared to be hollow. Dana thought they were going to climb inside for shelter, but then she saw the door. A canopy of bracket fungus arched overhead, and there was a little brass handle and matching knocker engraved with the words MANNERS MAKETH THE MAN.
Against the howling wind, Ivy clattered on the knocker.
The last thing Dana expected was to know the person who opened the door; yet there stood the little old lady she had met in the restaurant in Bray and again in the mountains when she set off on her quest.
“Mrs. Sootie Woodhouse!” Ivy cried. “We needs your help!”
“Come! Come!” The old woman bustled the girls in out of the rain. “We meet again,” was all she said to Dana.
Under the frilly bonnet, her narrow face seemed to have grown more whiskers. Her yellow dress had a full-length skirt and a lacy apron. The black beady eyes twinkled merrily.
They stepped into a hallway that had a wooden coat stand and framed pictures of woodland scenes. Carpeted stairs led downward under the ground. Mrs. Woodhouse lit a candle to show them below.
Though Dana had seen many wonders in her travels, this was the place that delighted her the most. The rooms were small and low-ceilinged. She had to duck her head to keep from hitting the roof. In the living room was a stone fireplace with pink ceramic tiles, and two stuffed chairs with cushions that stood by the hearth. A carved dresser held china dishes and brown crockery. Rugs of multicolored weave covered the earthen floor, while bookshelves and family portraits graced the walls.
“What a dotey house!” said Dana.
Mrs. Woodhouse scooted them into the bedroom to dry themselves off. The four-poster bed was covered with a patchwork quilt and matching canopy. At its foot stood a wicker trunk of fresh linen. A blue porcelain jug and bowl stood on a washstand.
“Wash your hands before lunch, girls!” Mrs. Woodhouse called in to them.
“This be good news,” said Ivy.
They were soon dry and ready to eat. A little feast had been laid out on the round table in the living room. There were bowls of chestnut soup with white rolls fresh from the oven, a platter of hard cheeses, fresh dandelion salad with strawberries, and a blackberry syllabub and a crabapple pie.
Before they could start on the meal, Mrs. Woodhouse bowed her head and spoke quietly.
“We thank the Mystery that makes all things grow and breathes wonder through the world.”
“We does,” said Ivy.
“Me too,” said Dana.
As she helped herself to a bit of everything, in the back of her mind Dana worried about time. She already trusted Mrs. Woodhouse and had decided to confide in Ivy too. She was waiting for the right moment to mention her mission and to ask for their help. Though all was safe and snug in the little underground house, the storm raged above. Could they get her to Lugnaquillia?
Mrs. Woodhouse looked upward.
“His heart breaks yet again,” she said sadly. “Will he survive his memories? Will we?”
“Maybe he gots to wake,” Ivy said, though she sounded uncertain. “Maybe it be’
s best for him.”
Dana was surprised. She had come to think of Lugh as a tyrant whom the boggles kept asleep in order to protect themselves. But Ivy and Mrs. Woodhouse showed no fear, and their voices expressed only warmth and concern.
“I thought the boggles didn’t want him to wake up?” Dana said. “That’s why they imprisoned me!”
She told them what had happened when she was in the Boglands.
Ivy was very upset. Her cutlery clattered onto her plate.
“The bad boys! They’s not supposed to steal childer anymore! But they’s even badder to put you in the hole. Stupid boys! They don’t knows the story. The King wakes already. I’s on my way to tell them that.”
Mrs. Woodhouse stayed calm.
“You bear a message for Lugh of the Mountain, Lugh of the Wood?”
Dana nodded. “It’s from the High King of Faerie to his Tánaiste. I’ve got to get it to him by today.”
Her words were no sooner uttered than the other two were galvanized into action. The meal was over. They had to leave at once.
“But what’s going on?” Dana asked, in the rush of coats and cloaks being donned. “Why was Lugh asleep? And why’s he waking up?”
“It be’s a long story,” said Ivy.
“We shall tell it as we go,” Mrs. Woodhouse promised. “It will shorten the road.” Her nose quivered with zeal as she fastened the brass buttons on her cape. “We have dallied long enough, girls. The High King’s message must be delivered.”
“We should link arms together,” Dana suggested, “so no one will get lost or blown away by the wind.”
Mrs. Woodhouse’s laugh was almost a squeak. “By all that shines, we are not going outside, my dear!” She unlocked a round door on the far side of the room. It opened into a passageway. “Under hill and under mountain. That’s the fairy way. We shall reach Lugnaquillia before twilight, dry as a bone.”
Sheltered from the storm, they set off through the tunnel. As they went, Dana was told the tale of the Mountain King and his Sky Bride.
The Light-Bearer's Daughter Page 14
