The Light-Bearer's Daughter (11 page)

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 antlers 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?

There was no time to wonder. The rain clouds were scudding over the hills and heading her way. The open summit offered no shelter. The air was already chill. Quickly she changed into jeans and sweater, replacing her sandals with socks and running shoes. She was glad she had brought her waterproof jacket with the hood, but soon wished she had packed the wet-pants as well. As always in the hills, the rain lashed sideways. Minutes after it arrived, her jeans were soaked and clinging to her legs. Things could only get worse.

Missing the deer, Dana started down the western scarp of Knocknacloghoge in sight of Lough Dan. The descent through heather and moor grass grew trickier still as the ground got drenched. She kept sliding and slipping. A climbing stick would have helped. She promised herself to look for a strong branch the next time she passed a tree. Her stomach was rumbling, but she ignored it. She had to keep moving. Though it wouldn’t be dark for a good while yet, the afternoon was fading. The dread question of where she would spend the night loomed in her mind. The burden of the task began to oppress her—the drizzle and the mud and the dreariness of the hike. It wasn’t fair. How did they expect her to do it without any help? She started to sniffle, then got angry with herself.
Suck it back! You’re the one who said you could do it!

When she reached the bottom of the hill, she had to fight her way through another sea of bracken till she came to a small river. As she struggled across it, she skidded on the stones and fell to her knees. Now she was bruised and even wetter. Would it never stop raining? Before her lay a sodden field bristling with sedge. Beyond it was the rocky slope of Scarr Mountain. To her right lay the dark-blue waters of Lough Dan. She spotted a group on the trail nearest the lake, their colored jackets like bright birds in the rushes. All had lowered their heads against the rain and didn’t appear to see her. Nevertheless, she hunched down as she hurried away.

By the time she had begun her climb up Scarr, Dana had to force herself to keep going. Placing one foot in front of the other, she counted her steps and stopped for breath after every ten. Though it had finally stopped raining, her feet were soaked, her legs aching, and her knapsack felt like a bag of bricks. The mountainside was moving shakily beneath her, and she thought she might faint. Plunking herself down in a patch of heather, she grabbed a handful of chocolates from her knapsack and crammed them into her mouth.

Life’s shite, eat dessert first
.

She was chugging on the bottle of cola when something caught her eye. It was moving down the ridge on the far side of Lough Dan. For a moment she thought it was a deer, and her heart lifted. Then she went cold.
What was it?
She couldn’t see clearly at that distance, and the thing itself kept scuttling behind the rocks. Then she got a clear sighting. Human. With limbs and a head. She almost laughed. Things were bad enough, why was she scaring herself? Still, she kept watching it. Then came the moment when it emerged from a rock once again and she saw something else: a reddish body, oddly segmented, with too many legs.

As the waves of terror washed over her, Dana scrabbled up the hill. Was it the thing from the waterfall? Or some other enemy? Had it seen her? Was it coming after her? Fear gave her new energy. Drove her onward. She could hardly breathe. Her lungs were heaving. Her panic made her careless. At one point she almost fell backward. Steadying herself, she stopped to look behind. There was nothing in sight.

A moment of relief.

Then she spied a flash of red near the spot where she had crossed the river. She almost cried out. It was following her scent, like a dog.
It was hunting her
.

The last few feet to the peak were a blind dash of dread and hope. No longer caring about anything else, Dana prayed that someone would be at the top. A group of hill-walkers. A lone hiker. Anyone.
Please
.

When she reached the summit, her heart plummeted. Nothing but rock and coarse heather. She was alone and defenseless against an unknown predator.

here were a few moments when Dana lost all control. She ran in frenzied circles, like a terrified toddler.
A monster’s coming after me! A monster’s coming after me!
She didn’t scream, but only because her fist was jammed into her mouth. Then she drew up abruptly. Forced herself to think.
What can I do? Where can I hide?
The grassy summit was pocked with outcrops of rock and several small cairns. Searching quickly through them, Dana found a narrow opening overgrown with heather. There was enough room inside. Crawling backward to allow herself to see out, she did her best not to disturb the heather that provided some cover. In each fist she clenched a sharp stone. If cornered, she was prepared to fight like a wildcat.