The Light-Bearer's Daughter (22 page)

What was going on?

Now Murta raised the gun to his shoulder, and Dana knew in that moment that he meant to kill her.

“Run for your life!” the wolf barked at Dana. “Up the hill! Into the trees!
Run!
”

Mind reeling, heart pounding, Dana scrabbled up the ridge into the shelter of the woods. The silver nails in her shoes gave her speed and agility. She didn’t turn or look back until she heard the shot. Something was wrong. The sound came from a different direction! Surprised, she stopped. That was when she realized the wolf wasn’t with her. Overwhelmed with fear, she hurried back. From the cover of the trees, she could see the road. Utterly disoriented, she spied a figure who looked exactly like her, racing toward the monastery.

And standing on the road below was Murta. Reloading his gun.

Dana’s sight blurred again. Now she saw it was the wolf who ran, with hounds and horsemen close behind.

It was a noble and splendid run. A silver-gray flash against the dark greenery. Legs high to paw the air. Eyes glowing gold. A cry for freedom. A cry for the wild. The last run of the last wolf of Wicklow.

“No,” Dana whispered, not wanting to believe what she saw.

The hounds raced ahead to drive the wolf back. Back toward the lead hunter.

Murta shouldered his rifle.

“
NO!
” Dana cried.

The shot rang through the mountains. The wolf somersaulted in the air.

Then fell to the ground, dead.

And Dana, who was a daughter of the wolf, let out a death-cry as she too fell to the earth.

ana lay on the ground, convulsed with weeping. She didn’t think about Murta or whether he might be near. She was beyond caring. It was a while before she noticed the change. She was shivering uncontrollably, at first with shock but then also with the cold. Something soft and wet drifted around her.
Snow!
In the middle of summer? She sat up, dazed. The valley was bathed in an icy-blue light. The oak trees stood bare, their branches forked like antlers. The mountainsides were cloaked with snow. The faint tracery of small animals, hares and birds, inscribed the ground. A winter’s sun shone palely.

She jumped to her feet and ran out of the wood. There was no sign of the hunters, nor of Murta and his jeep. The road itself was gone, and so too the monastic site and all its layers. The deep vale was still and lonely. Sheets of ice rimed the lakes. A raven cawed overhead. The only evidence of life was a camp fire on the shore of the Upper Lake, near a little stone house shaped like a beehive.

Dana let out a cry. The wolf’s body had vanished too.

Frenzied with grief, not knowing what she did, she ran to the spot where her guardian had died.

Mama. Mama
.

She fell to the ground once more.

“Where have you gone?” she wept. “Where are you?”

The gentle touch of a hand on her shoulder brought Dana back. A quiet voice spoke.

Hear my cry, O God
,

Listen to my prayer
:

From the ends of the earth
,

I cry unto thee
.

When my heart is faint
,

Lead me to the rock
,

That is higher than I
,

For you are my refuge
.

She looked up. He was a young man, barely out of his teens, dressed in deerskin vest and leggings, with his arms and feet bare. The dark curly hair fell in tangles to his shoulders. His skin was brown from sun and wind. But though he looked a little wild, he wasn’t frightening. A light shone in the gray eyes that regarded her kindly, and his features were serene. She knew who he was—the saint of Glendalough.

Kevin spoke to her in Irish.

“
A dheirfiúr bhig
,” he said softly. “My little sister. What has broken your heart?”

“Brother,” she said, dissolving into fresh tears. “I have lost my …” the word that best described the wolf came easily in her mother tongue, “…
anamchara
. I have lost my soul friend.”

Kevin helped her to her feet, but she was weak and shaky. The days of wandering in the mountains had taken their toll; the twists and turns of her strange adventures, the fitful meals, the sleeping rough. And now the devastating loss of her dearest companion. She was ill and in anguish.

He led her into the beehive cell that was sparsely furnished but clean and dry. It was for guests, he explained. He himself lived in a cave overlooking the lake.

Dana lay down on the sweet-smelling rushes, and a woolen blanket was placed over her. Kevin brought her a bowl of soup with a chunk of wheaten bread. She couldn’t speak but she sipped on the hot broth. He tended her quietly, the way Gabriel did when she got sick. Dana burst into tears again. She wanted her dad. She wanted to go home.

“Sleep, child, it will ease your pain,” he promised her. “I shall go and pray for you.”

When Dana fell asleep, she fell into a nightmare.

She was running with the wolf again. Hunters and poachers pursued them with guns. A shot rang out. The bullet pierced her flesh. She cried out in agony
.

Now the young saint entered her dream. He stood on the shore, where the lake water lapped against the stones. His arms were open
.

Come, sister wolf, I grant you sanctuary
.

Dana and the wolf leaped into his embrace. He held them both as they lay dying
.

Tá tú ag imeacht ar shlí na fírinne.

You are going on the way of truth
.

When Dana woke, her face was wet with tears, but she felt rested and stronger. Had she slept for days? Leaving the little house, she stepped into the brightness of a sunny morning. The snow on the mountains dazzled her. She shielded her eyes with her hands. And that was when she saw him. Kevin stood waist-deep in the icy lake. Arms outstretched, eyes closed, he turned his face to the sun as he prayed out loud.

Fada an lá go sámh
,

Fada an oíche gan ghruaim
,

An ghealach, an ghrian, an ghaoth
,

Moladh duit, a Dhia
.

Long is the day with peace,

Long is the night without gloom,

Thou art the moon, the sun, the wind,

I praise you, my God.

As he spoke, ripples broke the calm surface of the water. To Dana’s horror, a monster rose up from the depths, green and scaly, with a reptilian body and a horse-shaped head. Coiling and curling, it twisted around the saint till they were face-to-face.

Dana was about to scream, then stopped.

Kevin had opened his eyes and was smiling at the beast. A beatific smile. He leaned toward the serpent and rested his brow against its forehead: a gesture as light and affectionate as a kiss. The two remained that way for an eternal heartbeat, like a zoomorphic design in an ancient manuscript. Then the monster slid back under the water.

Catching sight of Dana, Kevin waded out of the lake. Though his lips were blue with the cold and his teeth chattered, he made no effort to dry himself.

Dana was still amazed.

“The old stories say you fought the
péist
and banished it to the Upper Lake. But you are friends!”

He laughed, the carefree laugh of a young man.

“The truth is twisted in many a tale. I carried the creature upon my back from the Lower to the Upper Lake, not to vanquish him but to keep him out of harm’s way. They would have hunted him down and killed him.”

The saint gazed over the water.

“He is something old, very old, but he is not the enemy. We are the ones who make him evil.”

When Dana looked confused, the saint explained: “Each of us has a ‘monster’ inside. If we do not find it in ourselves and make peace with it, we cast it out into the world and make war with it there.
Blessed are the peace-makers
, for everything monstrous is, at heart, something that needs to be loved.”

They were walking around the lower shore of the Upper Lake. The wooded cliffs towered over them on every side, quilled with the wintry silhouettes of birch and oak. Against the white of the snow, great holly trees painted splashes of green and red. Across the lake, a deer stopped on the high ridge to regard them. A rust-colored fox darted out of view.

“You will face your monster soon, little sister,” Kevin said quietly. “No one can save you from this. None of us may be kept from the truth; it is an appointment we meet either in life or at death.”

Dana shuddered as some dark thing heaved in the depths of her mind before returning to its slumber. Yet the monster within was not the only one she feared.

“But something evil
is
chasing me,” she told him. “I don’t even know if it’s human or fairy. What can I do?”

Kevin stopped a moment and closed his eyes. His lips moved wordlessly in prayer. Then he opened his eyes again.

“When you make peace with your own monster, you diminish evil’s power—over yourself and in the world.”

“What?”

Dana’s tone made it clear that she was hardly reassured.

Kevin sighed. “In time you will understand my words, but know this: the evil you speak of is not new to the world. It has been here before, sowing darkness to aid some greater design. You will play your part against it, but you are safe for now. Your enemy believes it has killed you, since the wolf died in your place.”

Dana let out a cry of guilt and grief.

He laid his hand on her shoulder.

“You must accept her gift. Her sacrifice. Her love for you.”

She nodded, even as the tears fell.

He didn’t try to stop her from crying, but kept his arm around her shoulders as they walked together.

They came to the Poulanass Waterfall which tumbled down the ridge of Derrybawn. Kevin dipped his hand into the waters to wipe her tear-stained face. His care and concern steadied her.

“Don’t you get lonely?” she asked him. “Here all by yourself?”

He looked a little abashed.

“I will confess to you. This is no hardship for me. I am not very good amongst my own kind. I fled the monastery where I was made a monk. It is easier to live with the birds and animals. Humanity is too loud and fractious for me.”

“Birds fight too,” she pointed out, “and loudly!”

Kevin laughed in agreement, yet it seemed that the birds around him didn’t fight. Several different kinds were perched on his shoulders, chirping away happily. Mimicking their calls, he spoke to them and stroked their heads. Dana was suddenly reminded of the eco-warriors in the Glen of the Downs, all the young bearded men who were so passionate and idealistic.

“Thanks for being here,” she said, and gave him a hug.

He blushed.

It was time for them to part.

“Climb this hill and go through the forest beyond,” he directed her. “Travel northwest over the peak of Lugduff. There is another valley you must cross, the Glenmalure, but by then you will be in sight of Lugnaquillia. You must reach it today, little sister, for it is
Lá Lughnasa
.”

Dana was halfway up the ridge when she turned to wave a last farewell.

Below stood Kevin, his arms outstretched like a human cross. In each hand a blackbird was making her nest. At his feet curled a badger and her cubs. Dana’s heart swelled. First the guardian of the Faolan clan and then the saint of Wicklow County; the gods of her father’s people had answered her cry. Once again she acknowledged that there was more to her quest than simply carrying a message and gaining a wish.

Was she ready to face what it was leading her to?