The Last of the High Kings (11 page)

As they watched, the púka lengthened and straightened. He was still mostly goat, but he was man-shaped now. Jenny noticed that whenever he did this, his knee and elbow joints changed direction. That was always the bit she liked the best. He sat down languidly on a rock. Jenny made to go toward him, but J.J. grabbed her by the collar.

“Let her come,” said the púka. “If I'd intended to harm her, I would have done it long before now.”

J.J. let go of Jenny, and she skipped over the lumpy ground and sat at the púka's feet. Donal, petrified, clutched at J.J.'s sleeve.

“Not a bad day,” said the púka in a conversational tone.

J.J. cleared his throat. “Not bad at all,” he said.

“And where would you be going on such a fine day?” said the púka.

J.J. shrugged. “Oh,” he said, “just strolling—”

“Tír na n'Óg,” said Jenny. “Through the souterrain.”

“How interesting,” said the púka. “Taking the fairy child home, were you, J.J.?”

“Fairy child?” said Jenny.

“Um, well…” J.J. stammered.

“But she's only half grown,” said the púka. “You can't take a half-grown fairy child home, can you? Surely that can't be right?”

“Fairy child?” said Jenny again. J.J. was trying his best to think, but he wasn't having much success. It was none of the púka's business what J.J. did with Jenny, but he found himself extremely reluctant to tell him so. The púka's eyes were yellow with black slits of pupils, more like a reptile's than a mammal's. And J.J. remembered how the púka had grown and towered over him in Tír na n'Óg and how he had mesmerized him. He didn't want to do anything to get on the wrong side of him now.

“No,” he said finally. “Maybe it isn't right. Not strictly. But Aengus didn't keep his side of the bargain, and I—”

A delighted laugh from the púka cut him short.

“Aengus Óg?” he said. “You made an agreement with Aengus Óg and you expected him to stick to it?” He laughed again, as though he had never heard anything so hilarious in his life, and J.J. struggled to swallow his irritation. Donal was still hanging on to his sleeve, peering out from behind him. It made him feel protective, and it gave him courage.

“I don't see why that's so funny,” he said.

“It's funny because of all the feckless—”

The púka stopped, because J.J. wasn't paying attention to him. He was looking at Jenny, who was staring at him with a bewildered expression. Her eyes were wide, and there were tears glistening in them.

It cut J.J. to the quick. Jenny hadn't cried since she was a baby. Not once, as far as he knew. This was never supposed to happen. It hadn't been part of the plan. Once Jenny saw Tír na n'Óg she would be so delighted to be home that she wouldn't mind at all about any kind of deal.

“Who's Aengus?” she said in a quavering voice.

“You'll find out,” said J.J., “as soon as the púka lets us through.”

But the púka had no intention of letting them go anywhere. “What was the deal, J.J.?” he said. “What did he bribe you with?”

“It doesn't matter,” said J.J.

Suddenly, impossibly, the púka was looming over him, his huge lizard eyes numbing his will.

“It matters!” an enormous voice boomed between J.J.'s ears.

Donal squealed and hauled on J.J.'s sleeve, but J.J. stood his ground. “Wood,” he said, not entirely sure whether he had made the decision to tell or the púka had made it for him. “For making fiddles. Chiming maple.”

The púka was back to his normal size again and sitting calmly on his rock.

“Chiming maple,” he said thoughtfully. “Not a heavy price, I would have thought, in return for rearing a changeling. Cheap, if you ask me.”

J.J. could feel Donal trembling violently behind him. Jenny, he noticed, had moved away from the púka and was staring at him wide-eyed. J.J. felt like a traitor.

“Keep her, J.J.,” said the púka. “She's not big enough to go home yet.”

“Fine, fine,” said J.J., thinking fast and trying to repair some of the damage he had inflicted upon Jenny. “I wasn't going to leave her there anyway. I just wanted to put a bit of pressure on Aengus Óg.”

“Well,” said the púka lazily, “we'll see if we can't sort you out a bit of timber, shall we?”

He leaned forward on the rock, became all goat again, and set off across the meadow toward the house. He moved rapidly, ignoring the farm track and heading in a straight line across the fields, jumping the stone walls as he went. J.J. and the children began to follow, but they hadn't yet reached the gate of the meadow when they saw something that stopped them in their tracks. The púka had come to an abrupt halt in the field called Molly's Place and was nosing around at the back of the farm buildings. Then he began to grow, swelling and stretching until he was as tall as the house, then taller still, towering over the spruce trees that lined the top end of the drive. He was so huge that from where they stood they could see his yellow eyes and the bright, keen focus in them as he bent and plunged a gigantic fist straight into the solid ground.

The earth beneath their feet shook, and they could feel, rather than hear, some monstrous subterranean rumble. Then, in an explosion of soil and rock, the púka's fist reappeared, and in it, like a bunch of twigs in a child's hand, was a whole tree. The púka heaved it clear of the earth, then dropped it with a crash like a
thunderclap into the middle of Molly's Place. The tree bounced, its branches bending and snapping, then finally settled in a tremor of twigs and a gentle shower of huge red leaves. And like a deflating balloon, the púka vanished behind it.

For a few moments the world was silent and still. The Burren hills basked in the fresh morning light. The dew began to lift. In the fort behind J.J. and the children a yellowhammer began to sing.

Donal took J.J.'s hand. They both were trembling.

“What happened?” said Donal.

“Um,” said J.J., “it looks as if the púka just got me some wood. For my fiddles.”

“Where did he get it from?” said Donal. J.J. reached for Jenny's hand, but she was just a bit too far away, and she was, as it seemed to him she always had been, occupied in her own thoughts, her own space, her own private, separate little world. What he had done to her was still causing him pain.

“Jenny?” he said.

She didn't answer. There were a lot of things that she needed to think about, and the most important thing at that moment was what she had just seen. The púka had become bigger, that was all. But there was something about the size of him, and those huge yellow eyes and curling horns, that she recognized. The ghost had seen this too.

J.J. and Donal set out across the meadow, and cautiously Jenny followed. They joined the farm track and turned off it into Molly's Place. The tree was enormous, at least twenty meters long and nearly as wide. Its branches and its bare roots towered above their heads.

Aisling was standing beside it, with Aidan in her arms. He was uncharacteristically quiet but pointed out the tree to J.J. and the others as they arrived, in case they might have missed it. He hadn't been on the planet all that long, but it was long enough to know that a tree appearing out of nowhere was worth remarking upon.

“I assume this has something to do with you,” said Aisling.

J.J. nodded. On the opposite side of the tree, just visible between its branches, the white goat was making a feast of the fresh red leaves. As they watched, a
young man stepped into view beside him. Only J.J. recognized him, and only he knew how he had appeared as if from nowhere.

“Are you responsible for this?” the man said to the goat.

The púka stood on his hind legs and became man-shaped. “Just collecting a debt, Aengus Óg, since it was clear you weren't about to deliver it.”

“A debt?” said Aengus, his voice barely concealing his underlying rage. “Since when have I owed you a tree?”

“Not me,” said the púka. He jerked a hairy thumb in J.J.'s direction, and Jenny wondered where it had come from. Goats, she was fairly certain, did not have thumbs.

Aengus walked around the crown of the tree until he could see the family. “J.J. Liddy!” he exclaimed. “My God. How did you get so old?”

“The nerve of you!” said J.J. “I'm only forty-two!” But he could not keep the smile from his face. Despite everything, he was delighted to see Aengus again.

“Is it you that wanted the tree?” said Aengus.

“Well, not a tree exactly. But you promised me some wood for making fiddles. Remember? That was the deal we made.”

Aengus looked uncertain.

“In return for bringing up your child,” J.J. went on.

“Oh, yes,” said Aengus. “That's right. But what's the rush? I was just getting around to it.” He was looking at Aidan, who was still in Aisling's arms.

“It's not that one,” said J.J. “It's this one.”

He put a hand on Jenny's back and pressed her gently toward Aengus. “Meet your father, Jenny,” he said.

Aengus stared at her. “It can't be,” he said. “How did she get that big already?”

“The same way I got so old,” said J.J. “It's been eleven years, Aengus.”

“Eleven years,” said Aengus. “Well, well.” He beamed a smile at Jenny, full of charm and self-confidence. “It's wonderful to meet you.”

But Jenny had already had more than enough for one day. Ignoring Aengus, she threw a furious look at J.J., then turned and ran toward the backyard of the house.

“Wait!” Aengus called after her. “There's something I want to tell you!”

Jenny stopped and turned back to look at him.

“If there's anything you need, just call me. I mean it. Just shout. I'll hear you.”

Jenny didn't answer. She went into the yard and disappeared from sight.

“Well,” said Aengus, “children these days, eh?”

“She's just a bit overwhelmed, I imagine,” said Aisling, and J.J. realized he hadn't introduced them.

“My wife, Aisling,” he said. “And this is Aidan, and my other son, Donal. This is Aengus, Donal. He's, er, your great-grandfather.”

Donal was also just a bit overwhelmed, and he decided to ignore Aengus's outstretched hand and follow Jenny back to the house.

“Donal plays the box,” said J.J., as though that explained his reticence.

Aengus nodded. “Nice children,” he said.

Then his beautiful features clouded over again, and he turned back to the púka. “And tell me this,” he said tersely, “what does this puck goat have to do with anything?”

“Just helping out,” said the púka, and butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

“Just sticking your hairy snout into things that don't concern you,” said Aengus. “There's a reason for that, I daresay, but I don't suppose you're about to share it with us. The cloven-footed races are not famous for their neighborly gestures.”

He stared at the púka, and the púka stared back.

Aengus went on. “Might I suggest that you shove off and stop meddling in other people's affairs?” He tore a few leaves off the tree and tossed them at the púka. “Here, take your picnic with you.”

The púka began to swell, and J.J. stepped back and took Aisling's hand. But the violence that he had feared did not materialize. Instead the púka became a goat again and began to wander nonchalantly away across the meadow.

“Don't trust him, J.J.,” said Aengus. “A charming fellow, no doubt, but a member of the devil class.”

“I don't know who to trust,” said J.J. “At least he came up with the goods.”

Aengus's green eyes flashed dangerously, and J.J. realized he was pushing his luck.

“I'm sorry about the tree.” J.J. went on. “It wasn't my idea. All I wanted was enough wood for a few fiddles.”

“No bother,” said Aengus. “Keep it. Make a couple of cellos. Turn the offcuts into candlesticks. I tell you what. Make a fiddle for me while you're at it. You can send it with little what's-her-name when she's ready to come home.”

“Hardly,” said J.J. “That wood will need to be
seasoned for at least eight years before I can start using it, and Jenny will be back in Tír na n'Óg well before then.”

“No worries,” said Aengus. “Bring it yourself whenever it's made. I'll be there.”

“You will,” said J.J., “but I'm not so sure about me. Do you realize I'll be fifty before I can start using that wood?”

“That's always the way with ploddies,” said Aengus. “They don't last. But listen, if it ever starts getting scary, just come on over to Tír na n'Óg and stay with us. You'd be welcome. We'd be delighted to have you.”

With that, Aengus waved to Aisling and Donal, walked around to the other side of the tree, and vanished into thin air.

“I suppose this means that it's all off then,” said Aisling, “with Jenny and the baby and everything.”

“I'd say so,” said J.J. “Maybe it's the best outcome in the end. You should have seen poor Jenny's face when she figured out what was up.”

Aisling nodded. “I'm glad she's back, even though she's a pain in the neck sometimes. I was in pieces here when you were gone, thinking I'd never see her again.”

“Hmm,” said J.J., “it was all a bit hasty all right.”

“So we'd better call Hazel back,” said Aisling. “Tell her it's all off, about the baby and everything.”

“Yep,” said J.J. “Get the whole family back together again and get on with our lives. And I'd better start by doing a bit of explaining.”

 

He wanted to speak to Jenny and Donal together, but when he got inside, he found that Jenny had shut herself in her room. When he knocked, she told him to go away. She was traumatized, he knew, and he wasn't surprised. He remembered how disorientated he had been when he had gotten back from Tír na n'Óg, and in some ways what she and Donal had been through was worse. The púka, the tree, and the sudden appearance of Aengus Óg all had broken the rules of nature as they understood them, and it would take time for them to come to terms with it all. And for Jenny it was worse again, because she had also discovered that she was adopted, not a Liddy at all but a fairy changeling, not a citizen of Kinvara but a visitor, passing through.

He left her to work things out on her own for a while and went down to find Donal. He was in the sitting room, watching the television, but he appeared to have forgotten to turn it on.

“We'd better make a start on that tree,” J.J. said to him, “in case someone comes along and wonders how it got there.”

While they were in the shed oiling the chain saw and setting the blade and hunting for gasoline and
goggles and gloves, J.J. told Donal about Anne Korff, the publisher who had shown him how to get to Tír na n'Óg through the souterrain, and about how amazed he had been when he first went through the wall. While they were walking out to Molly's Place together, he told him about the time leak, which was the reason he had gone to Tír na n'Óg, and about how he and Aengus had discovered the priest who was causing it and how he had fooled him into stopping it.

For a long time after that they said nothing because J.J. was busy with the chain saw, lopping off the smaller branches, and it made a lot of noise. But when he turned it off and they were gathering the twiggy bits and piling them up for burning, he told Donal about the injured dog Bran and how he had brought her back with him when he returned.

“There was nothing left of her, though,” he said, “just a handful of dust. And that's where the danger lies when you go to Tír na n'Óg. Because there's no time there, there's no way of knowing how much of it is passing over here. The fairy folk can come and go as they please, but we can't. If you don't come back within the time of your own natural life span, it's just too bad.”

“Is that why you told Mum to send Séadna Tobín in after us?” said Donal.

“That's exactly why,” said J.J.

“And what happened to the priest?”

“Father Doherty?” said J.J. “I'm afraid the same thing happened to him as happened to Bran. He came through the time wall, and there was nothing left of his life on this side. They found his bones in the souterrain.”

“My God,” said Donal, “that's creepy. And what about Anne Korff? What happened to her?”

“She's still there,” said J.J. “She must have decided not to come back.” He thought about her and realized that when he saw her next, she would look exactly as she had when he had last seen her a quarter of a century ago.

“And could she come back now?” said Donal. “If she wanted to?”

J.J. thought about it. “She probably could, yes,” he said. “But she would be very old.”

“The same age she would be if she had stayed here and never gone to Tír na n'Óg?”

“Exactly,” said J.J. “You've got it.”

He picked up the chain saw again and went back to the tree.

 

Later that day J.J. succeeded in getting Jenny to talk to him. He went over many of the same things he had told Donal and a few more as well. He told her about her mother, Drowsy Maggie, and about what fun it was in Tír na n'Óg, and how no one ever had any worries about money or health or responsibility.

“So why did I have to come here at all?” said Jenny. “Why couldn't I just stay there with my parents?”

“Because there's no time there. Nothing changes. If you had stayed there, you wouldn't have grown up. You'd still be a baby, like our baby is.”

“Your baby?”

“We swapped you. Our baby is still there, still in Tír na n'Óg. When you go back there—when you decide the time is right—we'll bring her back home with us.”

Jenny wished she hadn't heard about this. It was one thing too many. She had never been afraid before, but now she was. She felt raw, as though her skin were inside out, and every unexpected noise made her jump. She also felt very small and very much alone. She hadn't known what trust was until she lost it. She missed her parents, even though they were still there, because they weren't her parents anymore; they were someone else's. All those people she had taken for granted were not
what they had seemed. They were distant figures with their own plans and purposes, and she meant nothing to them. For the first time she had an insight into what Aisling and J.J. and Hazel had meant when they talked about their feelings and how other people could hurt them.

But the one who had hurt Jenny the most had been the púka. She had trusted him absolutely. She had believed that the ghost was deluded because the púka had told her so. She had believed that there weren't any monsters. With her new inside-out skin she could imagine how it felt to be the boy ghost, standing alone on the top of the beacon on the top of the mountain and defending it single-handedly. She wished she could go to him and tell him what had happened, tell him she believed, after all, that he was right. But she knew the púka wouldn't let her. She understood now what part she had played in J.J.'s plans. She was also beginning to get an inkling of why it was that the púka had shown so much interest in her.

She looked up. J.J. was waiting for a response from her. She searched for something suitable.

“I always knew I was different,” she said finally, “and now I know why.”

“There's nothing wrong with being different, Jen,”
said J.J. “Aisling and I think the world of you, please believe that.”

But even as he said it, J.J. knew how hollow those words must sound. He reached out and gave Jenny a hug, but he learned nothing from that. She had always been a distant and unresponsive child, and she was no different now.