She expected him to explode. To rant and rave again. She braced herself for more storms.
The sorrow in Lugh’s features deepened. His look was grave.
“Do you really care for my people, O human child? Then prove your love.”
His voice was quiet, but as his next words sank in, Dana jerked back as if he had hit her.
“Today is the feast of Lá Lughnasa. The day on which I may grant you a boon. I will restore my land and my people … if you wish it of me.”
ana didn’t know whether to scream or cry. Every part of her protested. No fair! No fair! After all the days and nights in the mountains, the trials and suffering, the fear and loneliness, the terrible loss of her dear guardian … to have it taken away: the dream that had carried her forward! The promised reward! After all those years of being a motherless child. The piece that was missing from her heart, her life: no mother to pick her up from school; no mother who smelled of perfume and who brushed her hair; no mother who kissed and hugged her goodnight; who loved her the way mothers love their girls. She would rather have it late than never at all. She needed a mother in her teenage years, to help her grow up, to become a woman.
She was to give up that dream? That hope of happiness? It was like suffering the loss all over again.
She could refuse. She had the best of excuses. The wish was for her father as well as herself. He had suffered so much from the loss of his wife. Surely the King would understand, having lost his own? And now Gabe had also endured the pain of Dana’s disappearance. Didn’t he deserve his reward? Didn’t he deserve some happiness?
She tried not to think of Ivy or Mrs. Woodhouse or the other creatures in the Kingdom. Were they alive or dead? What if she was their only chance for survival? It was too much to ask of her. She was too young to be called on to make such a choice, such a sacrifice.
“I … I can’t,” she mumbled.
The King regarded her silently. There was no judgment in his look, only pity.
A light breeze warmed her face, like gamey breath. Through the King’s features, the golden-eyed wolf gazed out at her.
“Stand beside the earliest crossroads and ask of the old paths, where is the way to good?”
Then the wolf’s image changed to that of Saint Kevin. His look was kind and gentle.
“When my heart is faint, lead me to the rock that is higher than I.”
Dana couldn’t escape the truth. There was more at stake than her own needs and desires. Two worlds were involved and so many lives. How could she think only of herself?
“I … wish …”
Her voice quavered and broke. She swallowed a sob and clenched her fists.
“I wish that you put everyone and everything back where they were before the bog burst.”
As soon as she had uttered the words, the King’s face brightened like sunshine after a storm. Admiration rang in his voice.
“A leanbh, a chroí, you have done what the best of mortals do. You have sacrificed yourself to rescue Fairyland.”
King Lugh raised his arms. His cloak billowed in a purple cloud behind him. The gold circlet on his brow flashed like lightning. He was a giant again, proud and powerful. The King of the Mountain. Lugh of the Wood. Now he began to sing in a beautiful language that sounded like music and birdsong and the rush of rivers. He was chanting and enchanting the land.
It was like a film in reverse. Everything that had been swept away flew back to its place: soil, water, mud, river, flora and fauna, boggle and fairy. Every bird was in its tree, every fish in its stream. The Kingdom of Wicklow was restored to its glory.
Lugnaquillia was bathed in the half-light of a soft evening. The air was fresh after the rains. The sweet scent of drying grasses wafted on the breeze. Peeping out from the greensward were mushrooms of every kind: fairy-ring champignons, gray-scaled parasols, and tiny yellow sulphur tufts. On the north-facing crags of the mountain, a flock of ravens settled into their nests while the first bats emerged for their evening feed.
The sun was setting in the Glen of Imaal. A rosy glow bathed the western slopes of Lugnaquillia. A hush settled over the landscape, breathless and silvered with the last tracery of rain. Lugh drew a sweeping arc in the air. In response to his gesture, a great rainbow swept across the sky. He raised an eyebrow at Dana as if to say, good enough?
Before she could respond, the girl boggles came running from the bogs of Slievemaan. They fell on Lugh, like apple blossoms from a tree, kissing his hands and hugging his knees.
“We needs not sing no more?”
“You be’s all right now?”
Lugh gathered them up like an armful of flowers and planted kisses on each as they squealed and giggled.
“I am no longer your charge, dearest daughters. I am restored to myself. My thanks to you, ever-loyal boggles. You have done more for your king than should have been asked of you.”
When he put them down, they clamored to leave.
“We goes back home?”
“Back to the Boglands?”
“We goes home to our boys?”
The boy boggles had almost reached the top of the South Prison when the King shooed the girls toward them. All met on the slope with whoops of joy, hugs and laughter, cartwheels and somersaults. Then they set off together to return to the Boglands.
“Where’s Ivy?” Dana asked, her voice trembling. “And Mrs. Woodhouse?”
Lugh was already gazing over the swell of the mountains. “Mrs. Woodhouse has returned to the forest. She will come to you again, if you need her. As for your friend …” He lifted his hand in a beckoning motion.
In the distance bobbed a little pink speck. As it drew closer, like thistledown on the wind, Dana saw it was Ivy floating through the air. The boggle landed beside them, bright and cheerful in a rose-petaled dress.
With a quick grin to Dana, Ivy curtseyed in front of Lugh.
“You’s well, dear King?”
“I am indeed, sweet one. Be free from all need to care for me. I would have you go home and live in happiness with your kin.”
Ivy had clasped Dana’s hand and now squeezed it tightly. It was obvious she was torn.
Gently Dana released her hold. She knew what it was like to be homesick. She was feeling that way herself.
“Go on, Ivy. You’ve been away long enough. I just hope we’ll meet up again someday.”
“We will,” Ivy assured her. Then the boggle leader addressed Lugh sternly. “Be’s that right, Ard Solas?”
Lugh smiled down at her.
“Bravest of boggles, you will surely meet your friend again. Your king gives his word.”
That was all Ivy needed to hear. With a last hug for Dana and another curtsey to Lugh, she raced off to catch up with the last stragglers heading east.
Lugh watched the boggles disappear into the distance, a pained expression on his face. Then he drew himself up and turned to Dana.
“Now for my message,” he said quietly. “All kings and princes look to the High King and I am his Tánaiste. What does the Ard Rí say to me?”
The evening had grown cooler as the sun set in the west. Like the boggles, Dana yearned to go home. She was weary and dispirited. Though she had accomplished her mission, her dream was shattered. She knew the message was important, but not to her. Great events were afoot in the Realm of Faerie, the concern of kings and queens. She had played her small part. There was nothing left to do but repeat the words and go home empty-handed.
“A shadow of the Destroyer has entered the land. Where is the light to bridge the darkness?”
Lugh frowned as he listened.
“Even as I lay dreaming, I sensed the threat. It was this which stirred me, undermining the spell.” He gazed into the distance. “It hides away in fear of me now that I have woken to full strength. I must seek it out.”
Dana wasn’t listening. She was wondering if the King would take her home or if she would have to make her way back through the mountains alone. She wished she had asked
Ivy to wait for her. She could have gone with the boggles. The Sally Gap was closer to Bray. Her heart sank at the thought of the long trek home. And what would she say to Gabe when she finally got there? After all the pain they had both gone through, she had nothing to show for it. Then they’d leave for Canada and that would end any chance of ever finding her mother. A lump formed in her throat. She could hardly swallow. Though she was determined not to cry in front of the King, a sniffle escaped.
Lugh snapped out of his thoughts, and was suddenly aware of her.
“What is wrong, child?” he asked kindly.
“It’s … things didn’t … I wanted …” The tears escaped and she couldn’t stop them.
There was a gentle amusement in his eyes, as well as pity.
“All you have lost is a wish, dear heart. That does not mean I cannot give you what you want.”
he King made a slight gesture with his hand and everything around them changed.
Dana was still on the summit of Lugnaquillia but apparently not in the same time or space. She was surrounded by trim lawns bordered with flowerbeds and dotted with stone fountains and white statuary. Towering over the elegant grounds rose a crystal palace, its turrets and pinnacles ablaze in the sunset. Lugh led her to the golden doors and into a great hall. Overhead arched a roof of translucent amber so thin it created a honeyed light. The shapes of flying birds could be seen beyond it. In the hall were gathered a shining company, the fairy lords and ladies of the Mountain Kingdom.
They regarded their king warily.
“Stay by my side,” he murmured to Dana. “No harm will befall you; but say nothing of the marvels you see about you or you will break the enchantment that holds you here.”
One of the King’s men stepped forward. A slender, silver-haired youth wearing a cloak of green leaves, he carried a small golden harp slung over his shoulder.
“Hail, Lugh of the Mountain, Lugh of the Wood. Help-less and hapless we have waited for thee. Hast thou returned to thy people, O King?”
Lugh smiled upon his harper and his courtiers, all fey and immortal with sad and glad eyes.
“I heard you weeping as I lay in slumber, your hearts broken with mine. Dear companions, I am truly restored.”
Cheers resounded throughout the hall, a tumultuous welcome for the return of the King. A banquet table appeared, laden with a fabulous feast.
As the bright assembly took their seats, Lugh offered his arm to Dana.
“But I’m not dressed for—” she began, then stopped.
In the blink of an eye, her muddy clothes were transformed. She wore a gown of blue silk seeded with pearls and an ivory-white mantle over her shoulders. Her dark hair was caught up in a jeweled comb. Diamonds sparkled on her ears and throat. Though she wasn’t one for fashion, Dana swished her dress with delight. It was comfortable as well as beautiful, and even had pockets. She accepted the King’s arm.
Two ornate chairs stood at each end of the long table. Dana was surprised when Lugh seated her in one, while he took the other. The nobles of the Court looked startled also, and glanced at her curiously; but the mystery of her presence was left unexplained.
Dana regarded the food ravenously. It seemed like ages since she had last eaten, in the forest of Derrybawn with Mrs. Woodhouse. Everything looked delicious. There were terrines of soup sprinkled with herbs, wheels of smoked cheeses, mushrooms of every description, artichoke soufflé and parsnip pie, baby potatoes served with chopped mint, and greens drizzled with lemon and butter. She was already eyeing the desserts. Surrounded by adults, she assumed she had to wait till after dinner. Then she noticed that many of the lords and ladies were sampling the sweets first, helping themselves to the silver dishes of sugared violets, the ginger sherbets and apricot mousse, the hills of chocolate creams, and the tiers of a gigantic hazelnut cake. To wash the feast down were glass goblets of elderflower and rose petal wine, as well as bilberry beers and brandies.
The courtiers chattered among themselves, but Dana ate without speaking. The food was heavenly. Everything melted in her mouth or burst on her tongue. Yet throughout the meal, she was dogged by the oddest impression. Nothing was as it seemed. She felt acutely aware of the unseen threads that wove this fragile world together. Fairy glamour. And she sensed somehow that any misplaced word or thoughtless statement might tear the delicate fabric asunder.
Despite her care, from time to time it unraveled anyway. She was about to bite into a peach coated with chocolate when she glimpsed the huge wild berry she held in her hand. She blinked. The peach returned. Sometimes the swaths of lace and diamonds that draped the ladies turned to spider webs sprinkled with dew. The greatest confusion had to do with size. One minute she felt like a giantess dining with titans in the Hall of the Gods; then, the next, she was sitting at a table with other tiny creatures, all fitted snugly inside a rabbit hole!
Dealing with the quirks of fairy reality was only one of Dana’s concerns. The issue of eating their food had re-emerged. Would she or would she not be trapped there forever? It was one of the questions she wanted to ask the King, along with how she could find her mother. The second matter was the most important, of course. Though Dana had used up her wish, Lugh had implied he would help her. She was waiting for the right moment to remind him of that, but the situation wasn’t ideal.
She had seen from the start that all was not well with the King and his Court. The tension in the hall was unmistakable. It ran like a dark stream under the pleasantries. Furtive glances were being cast at both her and Lugh. The nobles appeared to be on tenterhooks, holding their breath. What were they afraid of? What could possibly happen? The King himself was silent and brooding. He didn’t eat, but sat with his head in his hand, pensive and preoccupied. Occasionally he would heave a sigh.
Dana was somewhat wary of him herself. The memory of the raging giant was still fresh in her mind. The devastation he had inflicted upon the land. The madness in his eyes. She was both nervous and in awe of him.
When the banquet was over, the King waved his hand dismissively and the table disappeared. Now Dana found herself enthroned on a dais at the head of the great hall. The chamber was suddenly thronged, not only with the Court but with countless creatures—birds and animals and other folk of the Mountain Kingdom. Surprised that she sat at Lugh’s right hand, Dana couldn’t meet the countless stares directed at her. What was happening?
A blast of trumpets rang out. The harper stepped to the fore.
“It is the Feastday of Lá Lughnasa. Lugh of the Mountain, Lugh of the Wood, has returned to his people. Let those who will, step forth and request their boon!”
At first they came timidly, one by one, speaking in low voices to make their requests: a bigger sett in the lee of the mountain; a lost gift found; a betrothal blessed. But as Lugh dealt courteously and magnanimously with each, they grew more confident. He was indeed their beloved King! He had returned to them!
A tall lady glided into the hall. She had emerald skin and hair brown as bark. Her dress was of oak leaves; her crown, of red holly. A whisper rippled through the crowd. Muinchillí Glasa. Greensleeves.
“I have come to speak for the Glen of the Downs,” she called out. Her voice was as mellifluous as a burbling brook. “Will you stop the humans from killing the trees?”
Dana suddenly remembered that this was the day the felling in the glen was to begin.
“The storms have delayed the slaughter,” Greensleeves continued, “but they will surely strike tomorrow. Will you intervene?”
The King regarded her sadly.
“I will aid those of you who must retreat, but I cannot save the trees. For this is a truth you already know, Muinchillí Glasa. Only humanity can fight human evil. It is not our place in the worlds to do so. If their race fails to stand against its own shadow, we of Faerie must withdraw before it.”
As Lugh spoke he glanced for a moment at Dana. She shifted uncomfortably. Did he mean her? Was there something she should do?
Green
sleeves bowed her head to acknowledge his ruling. Her steps were slow and sorrowful as she withdrew, and the crowd murmured their sympathy.
Many more suppliants came and went. The King dealt with each like Solomon on his throne. It was the final petitioner who created the greatest stir, for she was both beautiful and terrifying. With a shiver, Dana remembered her from the mountains: the tall dark woman who was also a giant raven.
She was over seven feet tall, as straight and slender as a spear, with ebony skin and striking features. Dressed all in black, with leather jerkin, tight trousers, and knee-high boots, she wore a feathered cloak that flew behind her like wings. Her manner was proud and aloof.
“I am Aróc. Captain of the Fir-Fia-Caw.” Her voice was harsh and guttural. “A boon I ask. Awrrkk. Sad our tale in the West. Pain and loss. We seek new life.”
Lugh listened to her solemnly and nodded when she was finished.
“I grant you the crags of Cloghernagh,” was his pronouncement. “Build and nest as you will. Tá failte roimhe do cine anseo.”
Captain Aróc bowed, but before she could turn on her heels and leave, Lugh signed to her to stay.
“I am curious,” he said. “The marker stones around my borders barred all of Faerie until today. Yet I understand you have been here for some time, scouting the terrain?”
There was a trace of disdain in Aróc’s shrug. Her tone was cold.
“No borders … awrrkk … in the plains of the sky.”
“And if there were?” the King persisted. “Would you respect them?”
She glared at him. Black were her eyes, glittering like obsidian and rimmed with gold.
“Awrrkk!” she spat out, with the fierce pride of her kind. “Fir-Fia-Caw go where they will!”
Like the rest of the Court, Dana held her breath, waiting for the King’s anger. Would he rescind the boon?
A sudden warmth lit up Lugh’s face. In that moment he shed the burden of rule and laughed like a carefree young man.
“You will be at home in the Mountain Kingdom, O captain, my captain. For we are a solitary folk who live by our own governance. No one tells the other what he or she may do. For speaking your truth, I further grant you Corrigasleggan. May the Fir-Fia-Caw enjoy sanctuary as long as the hills stand.”
The Light-Bearer's Daughter Page 17
