The Light-Bearer's Daughter (16 page)

And they rolled the stone back into place.

Trapped in the dark, Dana didn’t see them slink away into the shadows, unable to meet each other’s eyes. But she sensed immediately that they were gone. The pall of silence and emptiness was unmistakable.

She stopped screaming. There was no point.

In that forsaken place, in the black of night, she was alone.

he Mountain King wed his Sky Bride in the autumn, on the Feast of Samhain, when the New Year began for the Sídhe-Folk and all those who followed the Celtic calendar
.

The fallen leaves of the forest made a red and gold carpet for the nuptial procession, as it wound through the hills. The King’s subjects cheered and sang, waving boughs clustered with bright berries
.

He wore the colors of his kingdom: a dark-green tunic, a purple mantle pinned with a white brooch, bronze sandals on his feet, and a chaplet of oak leaves upon his head. She was dressed in a gown of lucent blue with silver scintillas sewn into the soft folds. Taming her fiery hair was the winged crown he had gifted her
.

He brought her to his palace on the grassy summit of Lugnaquillia. Fashioned of crystal, it turned throughout the day to face the sun, like a gigantic flower. When the first light of morning struck the glassy casements, they would coruscate with rainbow colors. If the sky was cloudy, the walls gleamed a milky blue, opaque as a robin’s egg. In the westering sun of evening, beneath crimson skies, the towers blazed like burning jewels. Then would come the fall of night, and the cooling of the castle to black obsidian spangled with starlight
.

“Is this my home?” she murmured as he led her across the threshold
.

“Forever and a day,” was his reply
.

And the celebrations began
.

There was music and dancing and feasts galore. Banquets were served on cloths of pure linen and lustrous salvers, offering all the dainties of the kingdom: candied quince and apples, mint curds and berry pies, wild fruit jellies, honeyed syrups tincted with cinnamon, sweet nutcakes and seedcakes, huge vats of chamomile wine and fraughan beer
.

Following that marriage, in the sacred rite of
hierogamos,
all things that were bright grew brighter still. It was a time of splendor and delight, a Golden Age, and every creature, great and small, sang with joy: the hawk that swooped like a falling stone, the fish that leaped in shining flashes, the barking otter, the spear-beaked birds
.

Never had two lived so well together. Forever young, forever beautiful, they danced on the summer lawns of Lugnaquillia. They rode the cold currents of the winter winds. They swam in the seas by their lands on the Murrough. And any who chanced to overhear their laughter would feel their hearts lift
.

He would hold her close and touch her as he would a precious harp, singing to her sweet ballads of love
.

Were every brown leaf in the wood turned to gold,

Were the gray stone of the peaks, the purest silver,

I would give it all away,

For you,
a stór
,

I would give it all away,

For you, my treasure.

One evening they lay together in the warm grasses to watch the stars fall
.

“Tell me of your Home,” he said to her
.

Her laughter was light, yet a veil dimmed her eyes
.

“Do not seek to know too much about me. You are of the earth and I, the sky, and we have met in your realm, not mine. Accept what is and do not delve. For I have forgotten much, and perhaps that is best for our happiness together.”

Did he suffer a moment of disquiet, just then? Did he feel the darkness of the shadow cast by events to come? Did he sense the approach of the stranger and the pain that lay in wait for him?

ana huddled in shock. The hole was pitch dark and stank of moldy earth. Buried alive! She struggled to keep control, not to let the fear win. There was barely room to move around. Her body ached from the fight. When the tears started to roll down her cheeks, she couldn’t stop them. Then she did what most children do when they find themselves in an unbearable situation. She fell asleep.

Turning over, she realized she was at home in Wolfe Tone Square. The yellow duvet felt soft and warm. The light in the hall shone into her bedroom
.

Gabe offered her a cup of warm milk. It tasted of honey with a sprinkle of nutmeg
.

“You were riding the night mare again,” he told her gently. “I’ll stay with you.”

He sat in the chair beside her bed and smiled at her reassuringly
.

It was just a bad dream!

Happy and relieved, she finished her milk and went back to sleep while her father watched over her
.

When Dana woke to the reality of the cold dank hole, it was all the worse. She let out a cry as the darkness engulfed her once more. Scrunching into a ball, she held on to herself tightly. Every part of her hurt, and the uneven ground jabbed into her. The taste of clay was in her mouth. A foul-smelling mud coated her clothes, skin, and hair. After the sweet dream of home, it was too much to take. She started to howl like a baby.

Without knowing it, like all the times she had cried in bed at night, Dana called for the mother who never came. Her sobs were deep and painful. Her store of tears ran deep. How long she wept, she didn’t know, but it seemed forever.

Then she stopped crying.

And lay perfectly still.

I’ve got to do something. I’ve got to get out of here
.

Moving slowly in the cramped space, she began to push against the stone that blocked the
pollach
. It wouldn’t budge. Bracing her back against the wall behind her, she used her feet. Not even an inch. If only she had something to use as a lever! Her eyes were growing accustomed to the dark. She began to notice the spaces around the stone that let in air and faint traces of light. Was dawn arriving? She had no idea of time. Her throat was parched with thirst and she was hungry. The boggles had taken her knapsack. She had nothing to eat or drink. Would they come back to feed her or had they left her there to die? She wasn’t going to wait around to find out. She would dig herself free. Clear away the soil around the stone and widen the entrance.

Dana groped around for pieces of flint or stone. Nothing. She would have to use her hands. The clay was caked and gluey. She could remove only bits at a time. Her nails scraped against the stone. Though it seemed hopeless, she kept at it. If she persevered, she was bound to see some progress.

She had been digging for some time when she heard a noise behind her. Twisting around, she held her breath to listen. There it was again! A tapping sound, as if someone or something was on the other side of the hole. How could that be? Wasn’t there only boggy earth beyond? Pressing her ear against the wall, she was surprised to hear faint strains of music. The boggles? Unlikely. Though they slept underground, they lived and played in the open.

A vein of gold suddenly ran through the clay. There
was
something on the other side! As light and music poured into her prison, Dana peered through the crack to have a look.

She was gazing into a miniature hall! White tapers flickered in chandeliers. Crystal pillars rose to a high gilded ceiling. Galleries were garlanded with green leaves and bright flowers. Tapestries adorned the walls. Across the marbled floor, dancers twirled in jewels and finery.

How Dana yearned to be there instead of the dark hole!

The glittering company seemed unaware of the breach in their world and the one who was watching them. Then a young man, dressed like a page in hose and doublet, hurried toward her. With furtive glances over his shoulder, he produced a jeweled cup from under his short cape. Nodding curtly, he shoved it through the crack.

Startled, Dana looked down at the tiny hand gripping a tiny goblet. A whiff of cinnamon filled the
pollach
, cheering her instantly. But the moment she took the cup between her thumb and forefinger, it turned into a hollow acorn with a drop of dew.

The young man gestured to her to join him in the hall.

“How can I?” she whispered. “I’m way too big. I won’t fit.”

He pointed to the acorn.

Dana hesitated for the merest second. A fleeting thought of Alice passed through her mind.
Drink me
. Yet no matter what the consequences might be, her situation could hardly get worse.

She put her tongue to the acorn.

A tiny taste of honey.

The results were instant. She shrank like a balloon releasing its air and, before she knew it, she had fallen through the crack to land at the page’s feet.

He helped her up.

“
Fáilte romhat!
” he said. “Speak to no one but she who comes for you!”

Then he sped away before she could thank him.

Disoriented, Dana looked behind her, half expecting to see a rend in the air and the dark
pollach
beyond. There was no sign of either. She was gazing through a diamond-paned window over a courtyard. In the distance shone a beautiful country of fair hills and sunshine.

A burst of laughter brought her back to the hall. The revelers were stepping around each other in figures of eight. It was some kind of nature dance. All the dancers held objects in their hands—leaves, ivy, tufts of fleece, twigs—which they wove together as they moved. Something was slowly taking shape in their midst. A finely-wrought cradle? Or was it a little boat?

Dana backed against the wall, half hiding behind a golden curtain. Whatever magic had brought her there had failed to clean her up. In that splendid setting, her soiled clothes and her scrapes and scratches looked even worse.

One of the dancers broke away and came toward her. Despite the mask of peacock feathers, Dana recognized her immediately. The Lady! Her sky-blue gown flounced around her, and a silver mantle fell to her feet. Pearls braided her long fair hair.