Authors: O.R. Melling
The Hunter's Moon
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping
than you can understand
“The Stolen Child”
W. B. Yeats
Also by O.R. Melling
The Druid’s Tune
The Singing Stone
My Blue Country
In
The Chronicles of Faerie
Adult Fiction
Falling Out of Time
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:
Melling, O. R.
The Hunter’s Moon / O.R. Melling.
p. cm.—(The chronicles of Faerie)
Summary: Two teenage cousins, one Irish, the other from the United States, set out to find a magic doorway to the Faraway Country, where humans must bow to the little people.
ISBN 978-0-8109-5857-0
[1. Magic—Fiction. 2. Fairies—Fiction. 3. Leprechauns—Fiction. 4. Witches—Fiction. 5. Cousins—Fiction 6. Ireland—Fiction.] I. Title II. Series: Melling, O. R. Chronicles of Faerie. PZ7.M51625Hu 2005
[Fic]—dc22
2004022216
Paperback ISBN 978-0-8109-9214-6
First published by Amulet Books in hardcover, 2005
Copyright © 2006 O.R. Melling
Permissions
Quotation on page 36 is from
Lady Wilde’s Ancient Legends of Ireland
, first published in 1888, reprinted in 1971 by O’Gorman Ltd. Galway, Ireland, and used with the kind permission of the publisher. Various verses appear in the book. Any not listed below were written by the author: Pages 16 and 123-124: “The Gypsy Rover,” traditional (with variations by the author)
Page 44: “The Rocky Road to Dublin,” traditional
Page 46: “Molly Malone,” traditional
Pages 257-258 and 270-271: “
Éist, A Stór
,” by Máire Breatnach, from the CD
Coinnle na nAingeal/Angels’ Candles
, used with the kind permission of the singer/songwriter.
There are quotes in the book from the King James version of the Bible. These are in italics.
Designed by Jay Colvin
Map illustration by Rick Britton
Published in 2009 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
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In memory of Bernie Morris, me oul flower,
wish you could be here for this.
Many thanks to so many for their support: my daughter Findabhair; my mother Georgie and the Whelan family; John Duff and Brian Levy (dear friends in New York); Rachel Gallagher (fellow ambler and writer); Michael Scott; Joe Murray; Dr. Nena Hardie; Frank Golden and Eve Golden-Woods; Charles de Lint; Breege and Paddy McCrory of Inch Island; the Arbuckle-Brady clan (formerly of
Meitheal
); Sheila Delaney-Herceg; Maureen Galligan, Professor Dáibhí O’Cróinín and clan; Piers Dillon-Scott (webmaster); agents Lynn and David Bennett of Transatlantic Literary Inc.; the Tyrone Guthrie Center at Annaghmakerrig; all at Abrams, especially my editor Susan Van Metre; and last but not least,
Na Daoine Maithe
for their permission and assistance.
Go raibh míle maith agaibh
.
he muddy waters of the Liffey flowed sluggishly along the stone-walled quays. Like a weary old man in a dirty brown coat, the river wended its way through the noise and grime of Dublin City.
“Have you forgotten how to sing?” whispered the dark-eyed young man who leaned over the railings of the Ha’penny Bridge. His sloe-black eyes went darker still as he pondered the ancient river. “When we called you
Rurthach
you purled like a young stream. What have they done to you?”
A shudder passed through him as he regarded his surroundings. Concrete walls and the glare of glass towered over busy streets and traffic. In the crowds, dirty-faced children and the ragged homeless begged for money.
How could they live this way?
He turned to leave, eager to complete his mission and be gone from there, when he took pity on the river. A ray of gold flashed from his fingers to strike the turbid waters like a shaft of light. It was only for a second, the blink of an eye, but in that moment the river ran free. The young man was already hurrying from the bridge when the clear rushing waters sang their brief song.