The Hunter's Moon (22 page)

“I’ll take the chance,” she stated at last.

Dara’s look was all the support she needed, but he added words to bolster it.

“It’s a gamble, but some of the odds are with us,” he said. “We have your arts, Granny, along with my hereditary rights of kingship. And we have Gwen. She has countered every trick and trial the King has set against her so far. It would be wrong to underestimate her now.”

Gwen felt a surge of warmth at his praise. At the same time she caught a glimpse of the truth behind his words.

“You speak rightly, Dara,” Granny agreed. “We three have power. Though seven is the strongest number, a triad wields great force.” She smiled at the two of them with affection and respect. “Oh my dears, this will not be easy, and we may yet fail, but I know in my heart we are right to do it.”

They spent the afternoon making their preparations. Once again, the cottage was fortified to bar the fairies. Windows, doors, and all liminal places were wreathed with garlands of elder and broom, and bunches of primroses, heather, holly, and nettle. Once the house was girded, they armed themselves. Granny brandished a staff of blackthorn, her witch’s rod. The ogham runes engraved in the wood crawled over its veneer like glittering insects. From an antique chest lined in damask, Dara took out an oaken scepter. It was finely carved with a point like a spear. He slid it into his back pocket as if it were a knife. Only now, when she saw it again, did Gwen remember it from the night of the three sisters.

“It’s my badge of office,” he told her, “handed down from king to king. In our world it’s purely ceremonial. In Faerie, it’s a weapon that wields great power.”

“I have no magic,” Gwen said, with a pang.

“Magic is useless without heart and will,” said Granny, “and you have plenty of both. Remember that, even as you use what I am about to give you.”

It was a thin wand of hazel, peeled bare and white. As Gwen tucked it into her belt like a dagger, she was told of its nature. Sacred and powerful, the hazel had mystical properties few could plumb. But though she knew little of its spirit, she would be able to wield it if she were brave and true.

At twilight the three set out for Dunfinn, the fairy fort on Inch Island. It was situated on a high promontory in sight of Granny’s house. A narrow trail wound up the hill through gorse and wild bramble. The further they went, the more difficult it got. When they reached a sea of bracken as tall as themselves, Granny led the way, using her staff to beat back the greenery. Clouds of midges swarmed in protest. The scent of bruised leaf and stem was suffocating. As the ground grew sodden, the mud sucked at their boots. Nature herself seemed determined to block them. Whenever they reached a patch they couldn’t cross—briars like barbed wire, or stinging nettles—they would turn to the left. Deep in thought, each walked in silence, brooding on what might lie ahead.

Their plan was simple, if daring and dangerous. An exchange of hostages. Gwen for Findabhair. Once Findabhair was safe in Granny’s cottage, guarded by the Wise Woman, then Gwen would make her move. All being fair in love and war, she would do everything in her power to escape from Faerie. As well as her wits and her hazel wand, she was counting on a little help from her friends. It was Dara’s intention to accompany her. As King of Inch, he would claim the right to move freely between the worlds.

“Finvarra may not allow it,” Gwen had said, worried.

“He can’t keep me out,” Dara swore. “There is a tale of an Irish king who dug up a fairy rath to rescue his stolen queen. I’ll do the same.”

She had no doubt that he would, and it heartened her. Gwen was also expecting some help from Midir, but chose not to mention this to her boyfriend. No need to complicate an already tricky situation. Her fingers curled around the wand at her waist. Regardless of who or what came to her aid, she was ready to fight.

At last they came to Dunfinn. A spinney of straggling hawthorn trees crowned the height. At its center, the ground dipped into a shallow bowl of marsh. An eerie mist whispered through the reeds and rushes. Tall bulrushes stood to attention, a guard of pale spears. It was a forlorn and lonely place, with a strange chill upon it.

Gwen shivered. It was unlike any other spot she had seen on Inch.

“The islanders know this is a fairy fort and they avoid Dunfinn,” Dara told her. “But there are plenty of stories about people getting lost on their way home from the pub. After stepping on a
fóidín mearaí
, ‘a fairy sod,’ they always find themselves here.”

“The palace lies beneath,” said Granny, “in caverns deep underground. We’ll wait till they come for us.”

They stood at the edge of the spinney, overlooking the rushes, keeping a watch on Dunfinn. All eyes and ears, they awaited some sign that would herald the approach of the fairy folk: a blast of wind, voices raised in song, or the echo of music. But though the night darkened and clouds drifted past the moon, the silence was unbroken.

“Why do they not come?” Granny said. They could hear the anxiety in her voice. “I sent word of the parley.”

“The King doesn’t trust us,” said Gwen.

“Even if he doesn’t,” Dara argued, “he’d still come. He’d take the risk. If he loves her, he’ll do anything to keep her alive.”

Dara was holding Gwen’s hand as he said this, and he gripped it tighter.

“He may deceive us in turn,” the old woman said suddenly. “There is something in the air. I feel it. Will they try to take Gwen by force?”

The three immediately drew together, back to back. The shadows in the trees seemed to darken. The night crouched around them, ready to pounce.

“Be of good courage,” Granny said softly.

She raised her staff like a spear. Dara took out his scepter and Gwen wielded her wand.

All held their breaths, braced for attack.

The loud crack of a twig made them jump. A slight figure stepped through the trees toward them. Gwen let out a cry.

“
Findabhair!
”

For there was her cousin, looking pale and calm, dressed in normal clothes, with her knapsack on her back. A quick glance into the spinney confirmed she was alone.

Gwen ran to hug her.

“Thank God you’re here! Your life is in danger!”

“If you mean the Hunter’s Moon, cuz, I already know.” Findabhair’s voice was strangely flat. “Finvarra told me himself. He’s in love with me and doesn’t want me to be the sacrifice.”

“So he set you free!” Gwen cried, delighted.

Yet again the King had turned the tables, but this time Gwen didn’t mind at all. Breathless with joy, she introduced Findabhair to Dara and Granny, describing how they had come to rescue her.

“You’re so American,” Findabhair said quietly. “Did I ever ask to be saved?”

Gwen was brought up short by the remark. Dara looked puzzled. But Granny’s tone was stern.

“Tell her the truth, girl, or I will. I see the mark on your brow.”

Findabhair met the Wise Woman’s gaze and recognized another who had lived in Faerie. She bowed her head in acknowledgment, then put her arm around Gwen.

“I’ve only come back for a little while. To say my good-byes. I’m still the hostage. By my own consent, I will be the sacrifice.”

ome away from this place,” the Wise Woman said quickly.

Findabhair obeyed without protest, even as Dara caught hold of Gwen. Both were hustled from Dunfinn and back to Granny’s without a word. But the moment they were safely inside the cottage, Gwen exploded.

“Are you crazy? You’re too young to die! And it isn’t even your battle! I’ve put up with your selfishness all through this adventure, off doing your own thing regardless of how it might affect anyone, but this is it! I’ve had it! I can tell you right now, you’re not going to do it. Do you hear me? The word is NO!”

Dara stood in silent support as she wept and raged. Findabhair didn’t respond, but hung her head guiltily. When Gwen was finished, pale and shaken, Granny ushered them all to chairs by the fire.

“Why have you chosen to do this, dear one?” she asked of Findabhair, who was slumped in her seat.

“For the sake of Fairyland,” came the answer, so quietly spoken it was almost inaudible. “If I don’t, they’ll all be destroyed, along with Faerie itself. Like the other hostages before me, I go willingly. No mortal has ever been forced.”

She leaned toward the flames that were mirrored in her eyes as columns of fire. She had the look of someone newly returned from a foreign land, not fully there. When she was handed a cup of tea, she stared at it awhile before taking a sip, then seemed surprised by the taste. There was something about her that shifted and changed. One moment she was formidable with regal calm and resolve, the next she was trembling, a young girl out of her depth.

“I’m not going alone. Finvarra comes with me. He will abdicate his throne and let Midir rule in his stead. We had a terrible row over it. He wanted to take my place, but I wouldn’t allow it. That is my right as the sacrifice. He would do it out of love for me and his kingdom. I do it for the same reason. Don’t you see?” She turned suddenly to Gwen, eyes dark with intensity. “It
is
my battle. I am the Faerie Queen.”

Gwen’s anger dissolved like mist in the sunlight. No matter how much she hated it, she understood the decision. The rescue of Fairyland. It was in all the old tales. Many a human had risked everything to keep that wondrous world alive.

It was an impossible dilemma. How could she condemn her cousin or the Land of Dreams? The death of either was unthinkable.

Gwen sat up suddenly.

“If the hostages have always gone willingly, that means there has never been a fight. Could we challenge Crom Cruac? Save both Findabhair and Faerie?”

Dara let out a low whistle.

“By my kingship, we will try!”

Despite their accord, both were stunned by the immensity of their own proposal. They were further surprised when the Wise Woman concurred.

“All things are possible between heaven and earth,” she said slowly, a trace of awe in her voice. “I had a feeling we were heading for something momentous.”

The full gist of their talk finally struck Findabhair.

“Are you saying you’re willing to go with me and Finvarra? And to fight?” A flush of excitement brought color to her cheeks. For the first time that night she looked her old self. “We need a battle plan!”

“Welcome back, cuz.” Gwen grinned. “I missed you.”

They all began talking at once, but Granny took command.

“We need a strategy,” she agreed, “but if the King has chosen to face Crom Cruac, he should be here with us, to discuss the matter.”

“Would he know—” Gwen began.

“He’ll know,” said Granny and Findabhair together.

There was a moment’s silence as old woman and young girl regarded each other.

“Will it be difficult for you?” Findabhair asked quietly.

“No, but what about you?”

“I’ve never been the jealous sort,” the younger said with a shrug. “That’s why I get along with them so well.”

Only after Finvarra arrived did the others understand the meaning of this exchange.

When the King of Faerie crossed the threshold of the little kitchen, a gust of wind followed, trailing leaves over the floor. It was as if a panther had stalked into the room. Cloaked in black night, glittering with stars, he moved with a languid, powerful grace. In that cozy, very human setting he appeared all the more wild and preternatural.

Instinctively the four humans bowed toward the King. To their surprise, he bowed back.

“Greetings, companions. I come to you most happily. Your decision this night resounds through the halls of Faerie like a call to arms.”

He went immediately to Gwen. There was tension in the air as the two faced each other. Her attitude was ambivalent. Once again Finvarra had turned the tables. Despite all that had gone between them, they were now allies in the same cause. But how could she trust him after the things he had done? How could she like him?

Though a faint smile played over the King’s lips, his eyes were grave.

“My buttercup has become a mountain rose. A warrior maiden of high courage and strength. It was a game well played, and you won against the odds. It is good, methinks, to have the victor by my side.”