The Changeling (18 page)

As she dropped in the last of the bluebells, Aoife asked through tears, ‘Do we know where is his mam and dad?’

Caitlin slowly turned her head to stare at her. She was taller than Aoife, wide-shouldered and big-boned – her face strong and commanding, freckled pale, with stone-green eyes. ‘How would we know?’

‘We have their names – Padraig and Mary McGoldrick. Is there no way of finding them to tell them what’s happened?’

The girl continued to stare at her. ‘You do know he wasn’t talking about his real parents, don’t you?’

‘But he said—’

‘Those were the humans who brought him up, before he came home to this world. And what would they be doing here? We are fairies. This is
our
world.’

‘Donal was a
fairy
?’

‘Are you thick or what? Course he was fay, a changeling same as you and me. Only reason he had no powers, he came home too young. Did you imagine he was one of those stupid useless human children got themselves stolen by the banshees?’

The contempt with which the girl said ‘human children’ turned Aoife’s skin cold – she glanced quickly at Shay, who was binding the willow sticks into a cross. ‘Then shouldn’t we tell his real parents, from this world?’

Caitlin shrugged, flicking back her bright red plait. ‘Gone to the islands long ago. We’re on our own here. Didn’t you know? Danu’s sake, will you stop crying.’

Aoife sobbed helplessly, ‘Why should I? He was only a little boy and his parents don’t even know he’s dead.’

‘He’s not dead.’

‘What do you mean he’s not dead? We’re burying him!’

‘For Christ’s . . . Danu’s sake, this is
paradise
– don’t you get it? We’re fay! We don’t die! Did the druid not teach you anything in Falias? Did you not pay attention to your instructions? If fairies get damaged in their original form, they just transform and come back in a different way. It’s all in the book. It’s not dying, it’s being reborn. Ultan, pull yourself together – this is not a human funeral!’

‘Sorry . . . Sorry . . .’ The soft-faced lad was wiping his nose on his sleeve. ‘It’s just reminding me of when Trisha died.’

‘
Transformed.
’

‘When she got transformed. Reborn.’

‘The daisies are coming up on her already, hey?’

‘I know, I’m sorry.’

‘So stop blubbing. The sooner Donal begins his transformation, the sooner he’ll be after being reborn again, like Trish.’

‘I’ll get on with it, so . . .’ Ultan raised Donal’s body gently from the grassy bank where he had been lying, jumped down into the grave and placed him on the deep bed of flowers. He arranged the small legs stiffly straight in their short woollen trousers, and crossed the hands over the old-fashioned shirt, using the necktie to cover up the bite-marks to his tender throat. He laid a wild daffodil over the wound on Donal’s cheek, and stood over the boy for a long moment before climbing back out onto the grass. Clearing his throat, he said, ‘Caitlin, will you be wanting to say a few words?’

The girl rolled her eyes. ‘I said, this isn’t a human funeral.’

‘I know, I just think it would be nice.’

‘He’s going to be transformed and come back to us. We’re fay. We don’t have to say goodbye.’

‘Still, I’m thinking a few words . . .’

She turned away. ‘You do it if you want. Just don’t say anything thick and
sad.
’

Ultan took up position at the head of the grave, folded and unfolded his large soft hands. ‘Donal . . . um . . .’ He hesitated, large brown eyes rolling slightly up and to the left. Aoife assumed he was searching his head for the Catholic litany with which every person in Kilduff was buried, and knelt in the grass. Shay sank to his knees on the far side, his dark lashes lowered to his cheeks, the fresh-made cross lying on the grass by his side. The cat’s buttery blood was still splashed across his shirt.

Ultan said: ‘Donal . . . er . . . um . . .’

Shay crossed himself; the gold locket finely chained around his wrist caught the sun.

Caitlin was standing a short distance away with her back to the tree, arms laced tight across her chest, as if – despite all her show of not caring – she was clutching a heavy weight to her heart. ‘Get on with it.’

Ultan shot an anxious smile in her direction. ‘OK, I have it now . . .’ He brought his gaze back to the child lying in the hole at his feet. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, blackening it with a muddy streak. The feeling of his face being familiar came over Aoife again, though she still couldn’t place him. Maybe from a photograph? He straightened his shoulders.

‘Donie . . . Donal, you were –
are
– a very nice little boy and you deserve a bit of a rest after that terrible thing with the
cat-sidhe
– we’re sorry about that – so lie here under this earth for as long as you want and then wake and grow upwards until you find the sun and wind and rain, and then you can be reborn as flowers and trees and fruit because you know things grow very fast down here, and then insects and mice and stuff like that, and eventually we know you will come back to yourself as a fay . . . And enjoy the journey, OK? We all love you and we’re going to plant an apple right here on top of you, and we’ll come back every so often and see how you’re getting on with your rebirth, and when the tree is grown and has a few small apples on it, we’ll pick one and eat it, and if it’s very small but very sweet and not at all sour, then we’ll know for sure it comes from you, Donie, so until then, you know, farewell.’

Licking salt tears from her lips, Aoife remembered the bee she had crushed in her hand, and how she had buried it in the school grounds outside the history room, and how she had known deep inside herself that through that process the bee would be transformed. That roots would sink into its flesh and draw up its energy and make a flower, and bees would drink from it, and make other bees. She tried now to feel the same certainty about Donal, but it was harder somehow. Maybe she didn’t need to mourn the buried child. But still she felt heavy, like her heart was weighing her down. He had been so very small, and very sweet. And generous, as Ultan had said. He had poured all his hawthorn juice into Shay’s mouth, and even though Caitlin and Ultan didn’t believe it was actual magic, it had seemed to bring Shay back to life.

Ultan said, ‘I’m thinking we should cover him now.’

Shay said, ‘Wait a moment . . .’ and stood up from where he’d been kneeling, and took a handful of earth and threw it into the grave so that it pattered across the boy’s bare grubby knees, saying, ‘All-powerful and merciful God, we commend to you Donal, your servant. In this world he has died: let him live with you for ever. We ask this through Christ our Lord.’ Then he jammed the willow cross he had made into the grass.

Aoife murmured into her palms, instinctively, ‘Amen,’ but Ultan looked anxious and Caitlin shouted furiously, ‘What are you –
human
?’

Aoife feared for a moment that Shay would tell the truth, and then the changeling girl would maybe start some sort of a horrible stupid angry argument before they’d even finished burying the fairy child. But he just stooped to pick up one of the split branches they had used to dig the grave and began to fill it in.

‘Come on, Caitlin,’ pleaded Ultan, following suit. ‘Take it handy. He’s new here. Come on, it’s not easy to forget all the aul nonsense right away.’

The girl glared at Shay for a long, suspicious moment, before saying, ‘Grand. Hurry up and fill that in, and let’s get back to camp before the rabbit is overdone. I’m that sick of burned rabbit.’

The changelings’ camp was a steep climb away, up a narrow rose-quartz path which zigzagged sharply up the mountain.

Caitlin ran ahead in long bounds – leaping high and gliding back down, brief bursts of something almost like flying. Ultan was only trudging slowly upwards. He had pulled off his shell-suit jacket and was carrying it over his shoulder. Underneath, he was wearing a Blondie T-shirt.

Aoife fell back to walk beside Shay, though the path was barely wide enough for the two of them. She said, ‘Do you think it’s going to happen – that that poor kid will be reborn?’

He said quietly, ‘Daisies grow on every grave.’

‘No, I don’t mean like that – you know what I mean: I mean coming back to himself. That girl Caitlin said it was different for us—’ She broke off; he wasn’t one of ‘us’ – he was human. ‘You know, perhaps you’d better not say anything about—’ She stopped, not wanting to offend him.

Shay said nothing to fill her awkward silence; he was looking closely into every cave mouth – one after the other crowded by blackberries and ferns. The wild, glinting happiness that had shone out of him when he’d thought he was in heaven had been replaced by a pale, serious expression. It was as if he were disappointed at not having died himself.

Aoife brushed her elbow against a bramble, and small blue butterflies flooded the air around her. Her heart lifted. ‘I think that little boy will be reborn, you know. I think he’ll come back to himself.’ Ridiculous not to believe in magical rebirth, when they were in paradise.

Shay glanced at her. ‘I hope so.’

‘No, he will – I can feel it.’

The higher they climbed, the more of the world came into view – mile after mile of flowering wilderness, steaming in the sun, being watered now by a delicate rain-mist that lay across it like gold and silver dust. Silver rivers wound through it. Far in the distance were the smooth white mountains. A huge, solitary bird – an eagle? – was drifting under the arching rainbows on widespread wings.

Aoife pointed at it. ‘What do you think that is?’

‘
Careful!
’ Shay’s hand flashed out to seize her arm. The path had taken a sudden twist and she’d nearly stepped off into empty air. He kept hold of her arm for a moment, then slowly let it go. ‘By the way, I think this isn’t a mountain we’re climbing. I think it’s a ruin.’

‘A ruin?’ She looked around, puzzled, at the overgrown rock face riddled with cave entrances.

‘I mean, a pyramid. A city.’

And instantly, Aoife could see that he was right. If it hadn’t been for all the recent growth pouring in and out of every doorway and window, it would have been obvious. They had been passing not cave after cave, but dwellings thick with ferns, courtyards brimming with fruit trees, corridors choked with brambles. And many of the vines and ferns weren’t even living, but were stone frescoes made green by moss. Not a mountain, but a pyramid of houses and overgrown gardens piled one on another. She stared up in wonder. A city . . . Or something that had been a city before nature had taken over: layer upon layer of grass-covered roofs, crisscrossed and linked by narrow streets and sets of steps heading in all directions, fading upwards into the rainbow-strapped sky. An abandoned city, but still beautiful and magnificent in its abandonment.

Caitlin said through a mouthful of the rabbit, ‘Yeah, this here is Gorias, one of the four cities. It’s overgrown because no one’s lived here since the queen died. How come you didn’t know about the Exodus?’

‘We only just got here.’

‘Still, didn’t you get taught all about everything by the druid?’

Ultan, who was using a knife to poke around in a bubbling clay pot, said, ‘Maybe after you stole his—’

Caitlin elbowed him.

‘Aargh! Just saying!’

‘Well, don’t.’ She turned to Aoife again, continuing in an airy changing-the-subject tone, ‘I’ve been here a while myself. Nearly a year – hard to tell – time slips by ’cos there’s no seasons. I teamed up with Ultan in Falias and we got sent out here to catch beasts.’

Ultan fished something like a pale purple potato out of the pot and offered it to Aoife on the point of his knife. ‘Try this.’

It was violently peppery. ‘Delicious.’

‘Donal loved them.’ He sighed and dug around for another piece.

The four of them were squatting on rough wooden stools around a small fire in the centre of a little courtyard, over which the clay pot was suspended on a wooden tripod. A bronze fountain gurgled nearby, and beds of grass were piled in three of the corners. There were narrow apertures in the outer wall through which Aoife could see the white mountains, and a net made of vines was strung across their heads from wall to wall – for protection against monsters like the cat, she guessed.

Caitlin took an old-fashioned bronze knife similar to Ultan’s and speared herself a piece of the boiled root. ‘So, where did you leave your kit?’

‘Kit?’

‘Your
kit.
’ She jerked her thumb at the far corner, to a small heap of leather bags with drawstring tops. ‘What you were given in Falias.’

‘We haven’t been to Falias yet. We’ve only just got here. The tunnel we came through collapsed on us, and Ultan and poor Donal pulled us out. We were so lucky they found us . . .’ Aoife glanced at Shay. He was in the act of flicking his rabbit bone towards one of the window-slits; it flew through the narrow gap without touching the sides.

Ultan, watching him, blurted out through a purple mouthful of root, ‘Good shot!’

Moments later, Aoife became aware that Caitlin was staring at her angrily, a piece of root suspended on the point of her knife halfway to her mouth. ‘What? What did I say?’

‘You’re seriously claiming you came straight here from the surface world?’

‘That’s right.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘I am not—’

‘The only way from the surface leads directly to Falias. All the other ways are blocked. The people of Danu pulled every tunnel down behind them during the Exodus.’

‘Well, this one
was
blocked, but we broke through it.’

The girl placed her elbows squarely on her knees, turning the wrist of her right hand upwards so that the knife was pointing directly at Aoife’s face – still with the piece of steaming root jammed on the tip of it. ‘Who
are
you, hey? What are you doing here?’

‘I’ve been trying to tell you! We were in a sea-cave above and the tide came in, and we found this tunnel . . .’ Aoife glanced at Shay again, but he was paying no attention to this discussion – he was watching a caterpillar crawl across his palm, and gently closing his fingers over it. ‘And then I did something crazy and the roof fell in on us . . .’ Shay was slowly opening his hand again – a blue bog butterfly spread its wings in the sun.