The Last of the High Kings (16 page)

The weather, as it turned out, could not have been better if they had ordered it. There were few clouds and no prospect of rain, but it wasn't too hot either. Inch by inch, step by painful step, Mikey struggled on up the mountain. He took frequent rests, and as the day wore on, the time he spent walking decreased and the time he spent recovering increased. Patiently the children shuffled along beside him, helping him over rocks and grikes, taking it in turns to hold him by the elbow and steer him on the easiest course.

“The stick's the thing,” he said during one of his longer breaks. “I'd never have got this far without it.”

As midday approached, Donal left his stick with Jenny and ran down as far as the house for a flask of tea and some sandwiches. During the hour that he was
gone Mikey and Jenny barely covered another hundred meters, so he had no difficulty in finding them again. They didn't bother to try to find a level spot for their picnic but sat down exactly where they were on the stony slope. Mikey stretched out flat on his back, his bony chest heaving beneath his cotton shirt, and Donal was afraid that he was going to die. But after a few minutes he sat up again, and a bit of the old sparkle had returned to his eye.

He grinned at Donal. “By God,” he said, “but old age isn't for sissies!”

 

Around the time they were having their lunch, Nancy McGrath was making her daily visit to Mikey's house. Belle greeted her enthusiastically; but there was no sign of Mikey, and Nancy walked anxiously through the house, checking each room in turn. When she didn't find him, she tried the yard and the haggard and then took a quick scout around the neighboring fields. She generally knew if Mikey was planning to go somewhere, and if he went out unexpectedly, he usually left a note. She thought about it now, and she didn't recall his mentioning anything. But there was no sign that anything was amiss, so she put the dog back into the house and went home.

 

The sandwiches and tea had a great effect on Mikey, and as soon as they were finished, he announced that he was ready to continue. It took both children all their strength to haul him to his feet again, but once he was upright he appeared to be steady enough. He looked up toward the stony steps and back the way they had come.

“We're doing better than I thought,” he said. “We're well over halfway there.”

They were too. The next part of the climb was the steepest of all, but after that it would be all level going across the flat summit to the beacon. The stony steps were going to be a struggle, but even so, it occurred to Donal for the first time that Mikey was actually going to make it. The realization brought about a complete reversal in his attitude. He didn't want to stop Mikey anymore. He was determined to help him get up to the beacon.

They had barely started out again when the white goat came bounding across the hillside and stopped a few meters ahead of them, blocking their way. Mikey swore under his breath.

“That flaming thing is still here,” he said to the children. “Seventy years I've been coming up this mountain, and not a day passed but I didn't see that goat. It isn't natural. No goat could live that long.”

“What do you want?” said Jenny to the púka.

“Why are you bringing that old man up the mountain?” he replied.

She was surprised that he had answered her and turned to Mikey to gauge his reaction. He was speechless, staring at the púka with his mouth open.

“I'm not bringing him up,” said Jenny. “He decided
to come up, and I decided to help him.”

“I see,” said the púka. “What a coincidence. Here you are on the mountainside, and you just happen to meet up with the last of the High Kings.”

“He isn't a king,” said Jenny. “Ireland doesn't have a king. Mikey has been up here millions of times. He owns the land up here.”

The púka snorted, a short, sharp pellet of sound that ricocheted around the hillside. “That old arrogance again!” he barked. “How can a human being own land? Of all their follies, that one is the greatest. No one owns the land, fairy child. No one except for us.”

“There's no use talking to it!” said Mikey, who had recovered the power of speech and was quivering with fear and rage. “There's only one way to deal with a goat!”

He took a step forward and made a brave attempt to brandish his stick. Unfortunately he had become dependent upon it for keeping his balance, and if the children hadn't reacted instantly to save him, he would have pitched forward and landed on his face.

The púka laughed.

“It isn't funny,” said Jenny. “Let us pass.”

“You can pass, Jenny. You and the Liddy boy. But he can't.”

“But why not? He's just an old man.”

“An old man with a very long history behind him,” said the púka. “It was the first of his line who thwarted us in those negotiations all those years ago. It was his ancestor that set the ghost to guard the hatchet.”

“But Mikey doesn't know anything about all that stuff,” said Donal, and Jenny could see a mixture of terror and fury on his face. “He just wants to see the place one last time.”

“That's right,” said Jenny. “Where's the harm in that?”

“I don't know,” said the púka, “and I have no intention of finding out.”

“Let us pass!” said Donal.

The púka said nothing but dropped his horns in an extremely threatening manner.

“You're not allowed to hurt us,” said Jenny, but she wasn't as sure as she sounded. The peace agreement wouldn't allow the púka to attack them in its real form, it was true, but if he were just a goat, a simple creature, would that count? Or was that another example of undercover warfare?

Donal took a step forward. The goat did the same. There were barely ten meters between them.

“Careful now,” said Mikey. “Don't enrage him.”

But Donal had succumbed to his anger. He raised his stick and swung it from side to side in front of him. In reply, the púka propped forward, head down, in a gesture that promised an imminent charge.

“Daddy!” Jenny yelled.

“Whisht, child,” said Mikey. “How can your daddy hear you all the way from Ennistymon?”

Jenny didn't reply. She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled again. “Daddeeeee!!!”

 

As it happened, J.J. was not in Ennistymon. He and Aisling had looked at cattle until they developed brown spots in front of their eyes. They had talked to farmers, dealers, and butchers and had received so much advice, most of it conflicting, that their brains were addled and their nerve was completely shaken. They watched the first few lots go through the auction ring to get an idea of prices. Then they went back to the car and set out for home.

 

But it wasn't J.J. that Jenny had been calling. Which was just as well. The goat was advancing upon Donal, who was standing his ground and waving the stick in a way that was very brave but also very foolhardy. He
had painted himself into a corner, and there was nowhere for him to run. Behind him, Jenny was trying to maneuver Mikey out of the line of charge, but Mikey was glued to the spot, staring in horror at the scene of impending disaster.

Jenny yelled for her father one final time. The goat snorted and stood on his hind legs, preparing to attack. With that extra bit of height, his enormous weight, and the advantage of his uphill position, he would have hit Donal with the force of a speeding motorbike. But in a sudden, terrifying tornado of black wings a huge raven appeared, its beak and claws aimed with deadly accuracy at the púka's eyes.

The goat bawled. He ducked and twisted and fell heavily on his side, knocking Donal off his feet and rolling on to land in a heap beside Mikey and Jenny. The raven pursued him, still pecking and clawing, and the huge wings drove Jenny backward, away from the brawl. The goat gained his feet, tossed his horns at the raven, then bounded away across the hillside. The raven hovered for a moment and then, in front of the astonished watchers, turned into a man.

“I knew you'd come,” said Jenny to Aengus, grinning from ear to ear.

Donal had picked himself up and was helping Mikey lower himself onto a rock. The old man had a hand clutched to his chest and was sucking hard at his breath.

“What on earth is going on?” said Aengus a little crossly. “How did you get yourself into this mess?”

“We're helping Mikey up the mountain,” said Jenny cheerfully.

“But why?” said Aengus.

“Because he wants to go.”

To Donal's relief, Mikey was recovering himself. “By God,” he said, “I've seen everything now.”

“Have you?” said Aengus pithily. “Then perhaps it's time for you to go home.”

Mikey laughed. “First a talking goat and then you. One minute a crow and the next minute a man. That takes the biscuit.”

“A raven, as a matter of fact,” said Aengus. “Significantly different, both factually and symbolically.” He turned away from Mikey and smiled sweetly at Jenny. “Anyway, are you all right now? Anything else you need?”

“Are you going?” said Jenny. “What's the hurry?”

“I was dancing a set,” said Aengus. “They'll be a man short.”

“Well, too bad,” said Jenny. “They'll just have to find another one.”

Aengus's eyes flashed. “Oh?” he said. “And who says so?”

“I do,” said Jenny. “You promised you'd help me if I was in trouble.”

“And I did!” said Aengus with an injured air.

“Well, I'm still in trouble,” said Jenny. “That púka isn't just going to go away, you know. I need you to help us take Mikey to the top of the mountain. All the way to the beacon, in fact.”

Aengus gave an extremely disgruntled sigh, and Jenny went on. “Daddy! You have all the time in the world for dancing!”

“Actually that's not true,” said Aengus. “The thing about time is—”

“Give me a hand up there, young fella,” said Mikey, cutting in.

Aengus gave Jenny a withering stare, but Jenny refused to wither. So he reached out a hand and, with the greatest of ease, pulled Mikey to his feet.

Mikey rubbed his hands together and accepted his stick from Donal. “This is great,” he said. “We'll fly up there now with the bit of extra help.”

“Oh,” said Aengus, his voice oily with mock respect. “And would sir prefer to fly?”

“No, no,” said Mikey hastily. “Walking will do fine.”

“Good,” said Aengus, and he turned Mikey into a pig.

Nancy McGrath went back to Mikey's house to see if he had returned. She checked all the rooms again and then the yard and the haggard, and this time she went through all the ramshackle old outbuildings as well. When she still found no trace of Mikey, she phoned J.J.'s mobile.

“No, he's not here,” said J.J. “He's probably not far away.”

He listened while Nancy explained that she had checked on him twice and that he never went anywhere without letting her know. He still wasn't worried; but Hazel was in a huff about something and Aidan was on the rampage, and he didn't need too much persuasion to get out of the house.

“You go on home,” he said, “and I'll pop down
there in an hour or so. It's high time I paid Mikey a visit anyway.”

 

Jenny wasn't sure about the logic of turning Mikey into a pig. It certainly hadn't had any effect upon the speed of their ascent. The pig was every bit as wheezy and arthritic as Mikey had been and just as reluctant to go more than a few steps at a time.

Donal was at the front, guiding the pig by holding one of its ears. “I don't think this is fair,” he said to Aengus. “Why did you turn him into a pig?”

Aengus was at the back, leaning on the pig's meaty rump, heaving it forward. “I don't like pushing old men around the place,” he said. “Pigs, for some reason, are not so easily offended.”

The pig tottered on a few steps, then stopped again, panting.

“But why a pig?” said Jenny. “Why not something smaller and easier to manage? If you turned him into a hare, we could carry him up.”

“It's a body weight thing, er, er—”

“Jenny,” said Jenny.

“Jenny,” said Aengus. “The very young and the very old don't fare well with sudden alterations. All right for the likes of you and me”—he winked at her—
“but ploddies are frail and easily shocked.”

He aimed a kick at the pig's backside, but an angry glare from Donal persuaded him to think better of it. “Besides”—he went on—“the last time I turned a ploddy into a hare it ran off into the heather and was never seen again.”

Jenny laughed, thinking about a teacher she particularly disliked. “Would I be able to do that?” she said. “Change people into other things?”

“You would indeed,” said Aengus, “if you had a bit of practice. And púkas too, although they're much harder. They require a more specialized kind of art.”

“You can do it to púkas? Is that why they're afraid of you?”

Aengus hissed and shuddered. “They hate us with a vengeance, Jenny. It takes a lot of skill and energy to change a púka, and it's only ever to be used as a last resort. If you got it wrong, you could knock the whole planet off its hinges and set it drifting in outer space.”

“Wow,” said Jenny.

“Yes, wow,” said Aengus. “So don't you even think about trying it.”

“I won't,” said Jenny.

“Good,” said Aengus. “Now give me a hand with this pig!”

 

Up on the beacon the lonely ghost was in difficulty. Everything looked just as it had always looked, but he could sense the gathering of powerful forces beyond the horizon.

He thought about Jenny and wondered whether he had been right to trust her. The trouble was, if she had tricked him, she had done it much too well. He had lost the absolute faith in humanity that had kept him there for all those years, and all his efforts to regain it had led to nothing. The truth was that he was tired. He had been ready to hear an excuse for him to leave this desolate post. And now that his determination had weakened and his power had waned, he wasn't at all sure whether he could withstand the onslaught that he feared was about to be unleashed.

 

J.J. opened the case and looked at his fiddle for the first time since he had returned from the United States. He was appalled by the state it was in. The belly was covered with sticky white rosin, and the strings were worn out and dead. As well as that the pegs were sticking right through the peg box and badly needed replacing. It was a dreadful way to treat an instrument that was one of the finest ever made,
and it was a very poor advertisement for someone who had set himself up as a maker and restorer. Ashamed of himself, he zipped up the case, shouldered it, and set out for Mikey's house.

As he walked down the drive, his spirits lifted, and he began to forgive himself. He had been under pressure with all the touring and recording, but from now on his life was going to be different. He was looking forward to the cattle and to getting the workshop in order. He was looking forward to the classes and céilís starting up again in a few weeks' time. Most of all, he was looking forward to spending more time with Aisling and the children. He was glad that Jenny wasn't going back to Tír na n'Óg. He had never taken the trouble to get to know her properly, and of all the priorities that were piled up in the front of his mind, Jenny was the highest.

As Nancy McGrath had done, J.J. let himself into the house and checked through all the rooms. He looked around the yard and the haggard and the out-buildings, and then, reluctant to go straight home, he took a stroll around the fields of Mikey's home farm. There were cattle there, belonging to Peter Hayes, and J.J. cast an appraising eye over them. He wondered again whether he could ask Mikey for a lease on the
winterage above his own farm. He knew Peter Hayes hadn't renewed it that year, but he didn't know why.

J.J. stopped and looked up there, and that was when he saw the three figures and what appeared to be a large dog, standing near the bottom of the stony steps. He had no binoculars, and he was too far away to make out any details; but he didn't want to go home yet, and he was looking for an excuse to take a proper walk, so he decided to go on up and have a look.