The Hunter's Moon (16 page)

There in a moonlit forest glade, around a bright bonfire, danced the fairies. Flickering and flitting like flames themselves, they footed with unruly glee. Whirling dervishes and spinning tops would be slow beside them. They capered in giddy circles like eddies of wind.

She couldn’t tell if they were tall or tiny. Their clothes were flower petals and puffs of thistledown, yet their limbs seemed longer than the trunks of the trees. Holly and mistletoe circled their wrists like red-and-white bracelets. Berries dangled from their ears, bluebells crowned their hair. Where they had been silver against the Burren’s gray stone, here they were of darker coloring—russet-brown, midnight-black, dark-green, and ruddy. Were they chameleons? Camouflaged by their surroundings? Was their glamour in the fairy hall but another guise? Truly they were wildish things, not of humanity, but nature’s children.

Gwen watched them, enthralled.

Suddenly a dark form leaped over the bonfire, scattering the fairies with the shriek of a hawk. Vivid colors gleamed on his body like metallic paint. His dark eyes were scrolled with kohl. His long black hair was sleek and glossy. In command of the clearing, he began to dance. It was a breathtaking display of grace and control. At first he stepped slowly, as if in a dream, then he switched to quick startling motions. The tilt of his head or the crook of his arm. Even his eyes flitted and flicked. And his fingers and toes. Each exquisite movement was an intensity of passion honed to perfection—the first shoot of a leaf, a bird breaking its shell, a dragonfly struggling to unveil its wings. In every part of his being, he was dance itself. On his brow glittered the sovereign star. Finvarra, the King, Lord of the Dance.

“Isn’t he beautiful?”

The husky whisper took Gwen by surprise. She almost stumbled from her hiding place. Her face flushed hot in the cool night air.

“Don’t speak,” warned Findabhair.

She grasped Gwen’s arm and led her through the forest. They came to the ruins of an old stone wall that once enclosed an apple orchard. The apple trees had long since run wild and were overgrown with tangles of elder and ivy. The two followed the wall till they reached a stream that glimmered in the moonlight like quicksilver. Findabhair sat on the bank and dangled her feet in the water. She motioned to Gwen to join her, but the other hung back.

Gwen was stunned by her cousin’s appearance. Findabhair’s clothes were shredded in ribbons and interlaced with wildflowers. Her feet and arms were bare, her skin nut-brown. A daisy chain wreathed her long thick hair. The golden curls stood out like a bush, matted with leaves. She was beautiful in a fierce wild way, but the eyes were too bright, too wild.

Oblivious to Gwen’s dismay, Findabhair spoke blithely.

“We can talk here. Water affects their powers. Am I ever glad to see you! I’ve been mad with worry. You’re in terrible trouble. How are you feeling?”

“Never mind that!” Gwen urged. “Let’s go! This is your chance to escape!”

The peal of laughter was like a blow.

“Why would I need to escape? I’m not a prisoner.”

Gwen was dumbstruck. Was this really her cousin? Or was she under a spell?

Findabhair stopped laughing. Now her look was grave. She changed her moods quickly, just like a fairy.

“Do you understand what has happened, Gwen? You ate fairy food. Are you finding it hard to concentrate? To act normal? To be yourself?”

Gwen nodded reluctantly.

“You’re half-in, half-out. That was the judgment by the time the row was settled. Your body dwells amongst mortals, but your spirit belongs to Faerie. You’re being pushed and pulled between the two. You’ll keep falling through the cracks. It can only get worse.”

Gwen’s blood ran cold, not only at what her cousin said, but at how she had said it. So calm and cool.

“You’re not Findabhair,” she accused. “You’re a changeling, like in the stories, a fairy pretending to be human.”

Findabhair shook her head. The sympathy in her eyes was the worst blow of all. Gwen so wanted to believe this wasn’t her cousin.

“I know they’re affecting me,” Findabhair said quietly, “but I haven’t changed that much. I was never one to mince my words. I’m telling you the truth, for your own sake. So you can save yourself. There’s no danger to me. I’ve chosen to stay with them. If you would only do the same, everything would be fine!”

“This is crazy!” Gwen said, suddenly afraid.

She was shivering with cold and the beginning of shock. Things were topsy-turvy. Up until now, as far as Gwen was concerned, her sole mission had been to rescue Findabhair. Now suddenly the matter was turned on its head. Faerie was staking a claim to
her
! Once again, the King had out-maneuvered her. All Midir’s warnings clamored in her mind even as the reversal sent her into a tailspin.

And adding to her upset was the secret wish inside, the quietly insidious urge to say “
Yes.
”

“We can’t just take off like this!” she argued frantically. “What about our parents, our friends, our lives? We were born to be human, not fairies. You’ve got to stop this and stop it now! It’s crazy, you know it is!”

“Crazy?”

Findabhair’s tone said it all. The familiar I-know-better-than-you confirmed she was no imposter.

“Look, Gwen, isn’t this what you and I have been searching for ever since we were little? The Faraway Country? All our hopes and dreams? Here they are on a silver platter and you’re turning them down! Who, I ask you, is the madwoman here?”

Gwen’s head was spinning. It wasn’t fair. No one should ever have to face this kind of choice. The Land of Faerie shimmered with promise. And she knew there was more to the dream than met the eye—a hidden catch, like the hook in the worm—still, it tempted her.

Inside Gwen the battle raged, one voice crying out to join the fairies, the other quietly refusing to forsake her own world.

Findabhair sensed the conflict and spoke persuasively.

“I love my ordinary life too, but it’s not as if I’ll never see it again. I phoned Mum from town, by the way, and told her we’re having a great time. Gwen,
everything
is possible when you’re a magical being.”

“That’s not true,” Gwen countered, “and you know it isn’t. You can’t have your cake and eat it too. You just end up with the crumbs. It’s not possible to be in two places at the same time. You’re only a visitor to our world now. You don’t live here anymore.”

“Midir fancies you, you know,” Findabhair said, changing her tack. “We could be queens in Faerie together. Just imagine the
craic
!”

“I’m too young to get married!” Gwen yelled, furious with her cousin. It was bad enough trying to sort out the dilemma. The last thing she needed was a handsome young man being dangled as bait. “And so are you, Findabhair Folan! And neither you nor that tricksy boyfriend of yours is going to boss me around. You can’t make me do what I don’t want to do and that’s that!”

Findabhair was taken aback by the force of Gwen’s words.

“I’m not the only one who has changed, cuz.”

The admiration in her voice calmed Gwen down. A thoughtful silence fell between the two. The memory of their long friendship rose like flames to warm them, reminding each of how much she liked the other. Both were reluctant to speak in case they broke the good mood.

“I brought your stuff, “ Findabhair said at last.

She pulled Gwen’s knapsack from under a bush and handed it over, a peace offering.

“Thanks,” Gwen muttered. “I’ll never think of old ladies as harmless again.”

Findabhair snickered. She went back to dabbling her feet in the stream. Gwen shuddered at the thought of the icy water. She joined her cousin on the bank but kept her shoes on.

“What is it with these guys anyway?” Gwen said lightly. “I mean, aside from the fact that we’re beautiful and intelligent, what’s the attraction?”

Her cousin laughed.

“Novelty, m’dear. They’ve been around for millennia. They know each other so well they’d die of boredom if it weren’t for us. Humanity, I mean. Could you imagine a marriage lasting a thousand years? Then multiply that by a few thousand more!”

“I see your point.” Gwen nodded. “So, are you still cooling the King’s heels?”

Findabhair kicked her feet till the water foamed.

“Funny thing about that,” she said softly. “You’ll think I’m full of myself when I say this, but I’m pretty sure he’s falling in love with me.” She smiled secretively at the frothing bubbles. “I don’t think he intended to. It seems to be throwing him for a loop.”

Gwen shook her head, bemused.

“Is this a dream or a nightmare or what?”

She had barely uttered the words when a blast of wind shook the trees around them. The fair folk had arrived. Dressed in tattered greens and browns, hair knotted with twigs, they were like a band of outlaws grinning at her. She looked for Midir, but he wasn’t among them. The King stepped forward to catch hold of Findabhair, Robin Hood claiming his Maid Marian. Gwen saw the burning glance he gave her cousin.

Now he turned to Gwen with a courteous bow. His features were cool, his eyes aloof, but the voice was rich and dark like the night.

“Thou hast free will in this matter and thou hast not. Death is one of the penalties for those who come unbidden to us. Instead we grant thee life. Our life. To sleep in a mound is to place oneself under the sway of Faerie. Yet we were kind and did yield to thy choice not to join us. Thou didst pursue us and enter into our court. In sporting spirit we tempted thee. Thou wert warned not to eat of our food, yet thou didst eat. The judgment is fair. The decision is thine. Accept our rightful claim to thee or be banished to your own world, a wandering wraith.

“What dost thou say?”

wen was thinking fast. How was she going to get out of this one? Even she had to admit there was a strong case against her. Her cousin’s eyes pleaded.

“I’m not saying yes and I’m not saying no,” she began.

The King’s features darkened. She finished hurriedly.

“I need to think about it. If you own eternity, what’s a little time?”

True to his nature, Finvarra’s temper transformed. A smile of approval lit up his features.

“You wish to continue the game?”

Gwen nodded. She held her breath as he considered the proposal.

“It has been good sport thus far.”

With a royal wave of his hand, he made his decision.

“Granted. A little time. No more than a day of your own reckoning. We go to our northern kingdom by the Lake of Shadows. Join us there tomorrow’s eve or accept your doom.”

“Where?” Gwen asked him, glad of a reprieve however short. “I don’t know Ireland very well.”

Findabhair was about to answer, but the King cut her off.

“In your world it is called …,” he paused, mischievously, “island island.”

The fairies burst into raucous laughter. Findabhair tried to speak again but in the blink of an eye she had vanished, along with the others.

Gwen stood alone in the forest night.
Island island
. Now what could that mean? Was it a trick? An anxious pang shot through her. Finvarra was a master trickster. She’d have to work hard to avoid his clutches.

But first, she needed sleep.

She looked around for a spot to camp down for the night. Piling up leaves to make a mattress, she spread out her ground sheet under an old apple tree. Snuggled inside her sleeping bag, she inhaled the scent of damp earth and greenery. The night noises of the forest played around her: the creak of branches, the sigh of leaves, the scurry of small creatures in the undergrowth. From time to time came the hoot of an owl or the call of a woodcock. The darkness seemed to gather round, pressing against her like black water. Her heart fluttered, small and nervous. Was she safe? All alone in the dark wood? Despite her fears, exhaustion won over and she closed her eyes.

In the deep of night she awoke. Emerging from the warm dark bath of sleep, she found herself drifting upward. A thistledown on the breeze? Or was she a butterfly newly risen from her cocoon? She felt impossibly tiny, like a speck of starlight. A sudden shift in the wind sent her tumbling. Now she was caught in a moonbeam as she continued to spin. The whirl of bright motes made her dizzy with laughter.