The Light-Bearer's Daughter (23 page)

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.

ong were the seasons of their love in the green and gold regions of the world. Little did they dream of the blood-dimmed tide of Fate that would loose itself upon them. For who can plumb the river where flows the waters of existence? Who can glimpse the shadow behind the sunshine of the day? All things contain their opposite. Eloquence is born of dumbness, blindness of vision, and darkness may lie hidden inside that which shines. It is said the Singer of Tales and the Lord of Misrule are one and the same
.

One day she vanished
.

Without sign or word or warning, the Sky Bride vanished!

At first some thought it a game of hide-and-seek, as the Queen was merry and loved to play tricks. But the King knew by the stillness of his heart that she was gone. Stern and silent, he set out to search the heavens for her. Through zaarahs of darkness and deserts of light he journeyed, under the architraves of immense constellations, past rushing planets and the blazing of suns. Across black starry seas and eternities of twilight he voyaged into realms still unrevealed and newly quickening to the Voice that was older than all. Out beyond height and width and depth, he plunged over the abyss, into brighter boroughs even more mysterious which swam in dark oceans like glittering sea serpents swallowing their own tails
.

Tá an oíche seo dubh is dorcha,

Tá an spéir ag sileadh deor’,

Tá néal ar aghaidh na gréine,

Ó d’imigh tú, a stór.

This night is cold and dark now;

The sky is weeping tears;

The sun is eclipsed in shadow,

Since you departed.

He did not find her
.

Each time he returned from his journeying, more wretched than a starving crow in winter, the nobles of his Court would plead with him
.

“Be at ease, O King. Be at rest. Let her go. She has returned to the sky from whence she came. She heard the cries of her sisters on the lunar winds, calling her home to the Lands of Light. You must let her go.”