The Hunter's Moon (28 page)

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.

Though his eyes lingered a moment on Gwen, he went first to Findabhair.

“You need not sorrow for our fallen King. Drink deep of the mead from the Cup of Forgetfulness and thou wilt be freed of his memory.”

Findabhair’s anguish was palpable, but there was no doubt or hesitation in her reply.

“I would rather live with the pain of his loss, than not to have known him.”

Midir presented the Cup to each in turn, and one by one they graciously declined. With a low bow, he acknowledged their decision. Then he poured the honeyed liquid onto the earth.

“Nor shall he be forgotten in Faerie.”

Though none partook of the Draught of Forgetting, all were blessed that night with a long and healing sleep. They awoke refreshed the next morning, able to face the day.

Mattie and Katie were the first to go. In the midst of tearful farewells, everyone agreed to meet the next year to hold a memorial in their friend’s honor. With that pledge they were strengthened, and their parting made bearable.

For many days after, Gwen stayed with her cousin on Inch. Findabhair was loath to leave the place where she had last seen her beloved. From dawn to dusk, she haunted the shores of the cold lough, searching the waters for any sign of him. Sometimes the others accompanied her, but she preferred to be alone.

At first Gwen couldn’t enjoy the remaining time she had with Dara, for she felt too much grief and guilt. But Granny soon put a stop to that.

“If you fail to live your life well, you dishonor the sacrifice of our fallen comrade. It is your duty to be happy.”

Thus encouraged, Gwen and Dara spent their days together as cheerfully as they could, shadowed by the loss of their friend and their own inevitable parting.

The night before she left, Gwen walked with Dara in the garden. The scent of honeysuckle perfumed the air. The moonlight cast bright shadows over the flowers and trees.

“Have you ever been in love?” she asked him shyly.

He smiled at the question.

“You mean before you?”

Their faces shone in the dimness.

“No,” he said softly. “Not before you.”

“And now?”

“Yes, now. You.”

“I love you too.”