The Summer King (17 page)

Yet the eagle didn’t move to harm her.

“Long have your people lived on Achill,” he said. “A noble line. You are welcome here.”

“But … the Fir-Fia-Caw … they attacked me.”

“All is not as it seems. Let me tell you the cause of my wanderings.”

Once again Laheen opened his great golden wings, and a feathery light surrounded Laurel. What followed after, she could never be sure of. Did she fly through time to see events unfold? Or were memories sent swirling into her mind, like leaves caught in an eddy of wind? Laheen’s voice was always there so that words and images flowed together like a story. Here at last was the missing tale of the Summer King and the Doom of Clan Egli.

I am of the Firstborn from the Dawn Before Time. Behold Eagle Mountain where I made my eyrie. Behold the Temple of the Birds which I did fashion for my Queen and her children.

There stood the sea-swept cliffs of Croaghaun, but not as Laurel knew them. Emerging from the mountain like its very soul was an immense and shining ziggurat. Tier upon tier of pillars and pathways rose into the sky. Clouds sailed through the tall columns carved of white quartz veined with gold.

Behold the Golden Age of Clan Egli. See my people, bounteous, multitudinous, living, glorious.

The Temple resounded with the song of countless birds, as well as fabulous winged creatures of myth and folklore. Some perched on the marbled ledges, preening their feathers. Others wheeled through the air in arabesques of flight. None fought or preyed upon each other, for this place was a haven, sacred to all.

Laurel found herself inside the Temple on a shelf so high it made her feel faint. Near her sat two old ladies, knitting and gossiping together like sisters. Both had bright eyes, beaked noses, and shrill, chattering voices. One wore her hair in a long gray braid the same hue as her skin. The other had a black plait that also matched her coloring. Feathered shawls draped their bony shoulders. Laurel was uneasy to see them teetering so precariously above the earth, their feet in midair. Then she blinked, and there stood a thin-legged crane and a shaggy black cormorant!

Now she glanced upward. Enthroned on the loftiest perch of all were two great golden eagles. The King and Queen of Clan Egli. Laurel recognized Laheen instantly.

Behold my beloved Ular, she who came from Faerie to be my wife.

The queen’s image wavered. One moment there stood a glorious eagle; the next, a beautiful tawny-skinned woman with golden hair and eyes like coins. A jeweled gown flowed to her feet, a crown graced her forehead. Her face was grave and kind. Laurel sensed that she was something much older than a fairy, though he who stood beside her was older still. And while the Queen shape-shifted in form, Laheen did not, for he was an Ancient of Days, a spirit who came before Faerie and the Earthworld.

Ular raised an elegant arm and blew kisses to her children. Only now did Laurel catch sight of the Fir-Fia-Caw, the great raven-creatures with eyes that flashed like lightning. Here and there on every level they flew, black and glossy, cold and aloof. The Temple guard.

“What?” said Laurel under her breath, as the first sliver of doubt entered her mind.

But the vision was already fading in the golden light of the sunset.

And the story changed.

The Sídhe, whom you call fairies, came into being when Faerie was already old but your world was young. Where light mingled with the elements of earth, fire, air, and water, there they were born.

It was the birth of the sea fairies she witnessed.

By the shape of the land, Laurel knew she was looking at the early days of the world. Achill itself was not an island, nor yet was Ireland, for both belonged to one vast continent. Humanity was nowhere to be seen.

It was a midsummer’s night. The warm sky rained falling stars. A tempest of wind tossed the waters. Sea spray exploded in the air. Wherever the starlight fell upon the surf’s foam, they began to emerge. Lithe and sinuous. Wet and luminous. Some crawled to shore like jeweled insects struggling out of their cocoons to lie exhausted on the rocks, shimmering faintly. Others leaped up from the depths of the cold water, like flying fish or gamboling dolphins. Still others rode the white-capped waves, giving cry to the ecstatic joy of their existence. And the tallest and fastest and most beautiful of these was he who would be the Summer King.

Laurel caught her breath when she saw him, he was so exquisite, but her next impression was that he shone too brightly. He seemed incandescent, white-hot and fiery.

Once the sea fairies came to shore, all sparkling like fireworks, they rushed into Minaun Mountain. There they hollowed out the Amethyst Cave for their abode, and set a throne on high for their sovereign. But the king lingered outside to look upon the world. As he surveyed the island that was his domain, his eyes rested on Eagle Mountain and the Temple of the Birds, long established there. In that glance Laurel saw a new birthing: one of discontent.

The Summer King ruled over the Folk of the Sea, but he himself was drawn to fire.

It was a stormy night. Lightning streaked across the sky. The sea roiled. On the rocky shore of the embayment, the outline of a tall figure could be seen, dark against the shadows. Arms raised to the sky, hands sparking with fire, he was singing and chanting—enchanting—working New Magic still young in the world.

Out beyond the bay, volcanic upheavals at the bottom of the ocean spewed up steam and boiling foam. Then slowly it rose up out of the water, like a shining sea serpent: the isle of Hy Brasil.

The Summer King abandoned his palace on Achill and made his home on the island he had called into being. It was a fair flowering place; yet a bright thing may nurse darkness at its heart.

Laurel caught glimpses of green hills and woods, white waterfalls and streams, and dwellings of bronze that shone in the sun. Overlooking all, on the slopes of Purple Mountain were the glittering towers of the Amethyst Palace.

She also caught sight of the king on his battlements, glaring toward Eagle Mountain.

The Summer King brooded over the Temple of the Birds. The West was his kingdom and he did not want to share it. In his heart he declared war on Clan Egli and plotted its doom. Many ages would pass before he could act, but those who live forever need not hurry.

She knew she was now viewing more recent times, for though Achill was not yet an island, Ireland was. And there was Hy Brasil off the western coast, and the Summer King standing by a great pyre on Purple Mountain. The sun was setting in a red-gold sky. As the king extended his hand toward the pyre, he let fly a spark that set it aflame. Once the bonfire burned, it signaled to the others on hills and mountains girding the mainland. Then, on the broad summit of the sacred Hill of Tara, with a flash of light from the star on his forehead, the High King lit the final fire. For as one was the beginning, the other was the end in that circle of power.

As she felt the sudden surge of energy, Laurel knew this was the
Fáinne na Gréine.
The Ring of the Sun.

The Sídhe-Folk were pleased with the Summer King’s gift, for it made them stronger. And though they were one of the youngest races in Faerie, they became the most powerful. Thus the High King of the Sídhe became High King over all. But power always comes at a price, though they did not see it. I saw, being an Old One, and yet I could not interfere, for it is not the place of Old Magic to counter the new.

Laurel, too, saw something. In the moment when the circle was forged, the Summer King stepped into the fire and then staggered out again. A sense of foreboding came over her.

Many times was forged the Ring of the Sun before another race came to walk upon the Earth, one whose heart and soul would be linked with Faerie.

It was strange and unsettling for Laurel to observe the early humans struggling to survive. With a mild shock she realized she was looking at her Irish ancestors. She was also surprised to see the two races meet and the people bowing to the fairies as if they were gods. Then the first little boats of skin and wood set out from Achill for Hy Brasil.

They brought offerings to appease the Summer King, but he was not pleased. He removed his island to the Land Below the Waves. Yet every seven years he would raise it again so that the Ring of the Sun might burn at Midsummer. And though the king hated the new race on the Earth, he did nothing to harm them, for he saw that they would further his aims.

At first the weapons of the human hunters were crude, made of stone, wood, and bone. But in time new technologies developed and with them, greater skill and accuracy. Spears and darts turned to bows and arrows, then increasingly more complicated and deadly guns. With growing horror, Laurel watched as the men shot, trapped, and poisoned eagles all over Ireland. There was no doubt that both hunter and farmer were bent on eradicating the great bird. And though she turned away from the sight of hatchlings poisoned in their nests, she could not shut out the cries of all the eagles on their way to extinction.

The slaughter of the eagles in Ireland weakened Clan Egli, for the fates of Faerie and the Earthworld were now entwined and what happened in one world could affect the other. The Summer King knew the days of waiting were over. His time had come.

Bonfires burned on every hilltop. The
Fáinne na
Gréine
had been forged once again. Now the Summer King stepped into the Midsummer Fire and did not step out again. There was a single fiery moment in which he contained all the power that surged through the Ring of the Sun. Then, like a volcano erupting, like a mushroom cloud rising, he unleashed its force upon Eagle Mountain.

It was like watching the fall of Atlantis.

The first blast shook the foundations of the Temple. Ledges cracked and broke. Pillars toppled into the sea. Streams of fire reddened the air. Hot winds gusted. Everywhere Laurel looked, birds and winged beings were set ablaze. The second blast hit the mountain itself. With a mighty crack like thunder, the rock face severed to create a deep gorge. Chunks of cliff slid into the ocean. Too late, screeching hosts of the Fir-Fia-Caw swarmed in dark clouds to attack Hy Brasil. But their valor was hopeless, and they were seared to ashes as they crossed the water.

Laurel couldn’t watch any longer. She turned away.

I sing of the ruined nest on Eagle Mountain.

And she was back in the eyrie overlooking the Atlantic.

Laheen’s golden voice rang with a sorrow beyond measure.

“Many millions of years did not spoil it, but the Summer King did. So much was lost: the Temple broken, the Fir-Fia-Caw massacred, Clan Egli dispersed.”

Laurel’s mind was reeling. She could barely grasp what she had seen and heard.

“I don’t understand,” she said, barely audible. “My mission is to find this king. To light the fire again!”

The old eagle inclined his tawny head toward her.

“The Summer King is not lost. He is here on Achill, imprisoned in Slievemore, the Great Mountain. The last of the Fir-Fia-Caw are his guards and jailers. For though the Summer King won the battle that day, he did not win the war. The
Sídhe
-Folk themselves rose up against him and he was captured and bound. In keeping with the covenant between the two worlds, a mortal was called to do the deed.”

Darkness was descending over Laurel’s thoughts. The full import of Laheen’s words threatened to unhinge her. She was on the wrong side. She was doing the wrong thing. She had been sent to free an ancient evil. Her quest, her mission, was all wrong.

She felt as if the eagle hadn’t saved her, that she was still falling downward into the cold sea. She choked on the taste of bitter salt tears. The treachery of the fairies! They had sent her to do what they could not or would not do themselves. Their dirty work. A crime against justice. And the reward, oh God, the reward they offered, something for which she would sell her very soul.

“The fire must be lit!” came her strangled cry.

In a flow of hoarse words broken by sobs, she confessed to Laheen why she had taken the mission.
My sister, my twin, is dead.
It was the first time she spoke the unspeakable words. The first time she said them aloud to herself and another.
She is gone. I’ll never see her again. She is gone.

Now the grief tore through her like a jagged knife. And there in the eagle’s nest, beyond the world, above the sea, that part of her in chains was finally set free. She broke down and wept.

The great eagle did not move at first. Then something floated through the air and down toward Laurel. A golden plume. As the feather sailed past, it stroked her cheek with the gentle touch of an angel. Warmth and light and sweet scent soothed her. She caught the feather, held it against her heart.

“Dear child, I know your pain.”

Laheen’s golden gaze shimmered with tears.

“In the hour before he destroyed the Temple, the Summer King slew my mate.”

aurel had not recovered from Laheen’s new revelation when he surprised her again.