The Light-Bearer's Daughter (3 page)

Gabriel felt a twinge of the old wound and let it pass. He had to focus on the moment. He had to tell her they were leaving.

She had almost finished her lunch. Dividing the raspberries evenly between them, she stuck hers on her fingertips and began eating them one by one.

“Dana, you’re not going to like this, but I need you to hear me out.”

Her reaction was instant. She straightened up, eyes hard, ready for a fight. Another attempt to ban her from soccer? A lecture about the state of her room? New rules to increase her share of the housework? Whenever these moments arrived, she faced him as an equal. Living together as a little family of two, they had forged their relationship over the years. He encouraged her to speak up for herself, often to his own chagrin. She would hear him out all right, but that didn’t mean she would agree or comply.

“Professor Blackburn rang this morning. He put my name in for a job at the University of Toronto. Teaching music and Irish language in the Celtic Studies program.”

“Toronto? As in
Canada
?”

She saw it coming. How could she not? Though they lived in Ireland, the country of her birth, Gabriel was Canadian. From time to time, he would broach the subject of going home, but it was always a vague and unlikely notion. They were well settled in Bray, and the low rent on their house provided security against the vagaries of a musician’s earnings. There was no reason for them to move.

“It’s not just the job,” he pointed out. “It’s for you as well. Look, you’re growing up fast and I’m clueless here. Remember the whole fiasco about getting you a bra and—”

“Da!!!”

“See? We can’t even talk about that stuff together. Your aunts Dee and Yvonne will be like big sisters. They’ll help you out. And your grandmother.”

“I don’t want to go to Canada! This is my home!”

“Canada is your home too. My family’s there.”

“They’re here too! Great-aunt Patsy and Uncle Sean. All the cousins. You’re always saying we’ve got too much family! This is our home! We’re Irish!”

“I was born in Canada,” he insisted quietly. “And I grew up there. I’m Irish
and
Canadian. And so are you.”

Gabriel started to fiddle with the silver ring in his ear. Then he rubbed his hand over his head which he had recently shaved. These were the things he did whenever he was upset. Though he was nearly thirty, he looked a lot younger and rarely acted his age. Dana sometimes treated him like an older brother. She liked his music, a fusion of Irish trad with jazz and folk, and her friends thought he was cool. They both knew that his status as an artist, as well as a foreigner, helped to counter the stigma of being poor and a single-parent family. But Dana had once admitted to him that she wished he were more normal, like her best friend’s dad who worked in a bank. Gabriel didn’t even own a suit.

“I want to go back,” he said quietly. “I haven’t been there since … before you were born. I know it’ll be hard for you at first, but you’ll love it in the end. Canada is a great country.”

It was the quiet tone that convinced her his decision was final. She stared at him speechless. Had she been the sort of girl who cried, she would have burst into tears. Instead, she gritted her teeth and spat out her words.

“You didn’t even ask me! We didn’t even talk about it! Like it’s got nothing to do with me! You’re just a … a dictator!
I hate you!
”

Jumping up from the table, she stormed into the house.

Minutes later, he heard the bedroom door slam.

Gabriel stared at the last of the raspberries pooling in red juice at the bottom of the bowl. The days ahead would be a nightmare. He knew what to expect—quarrels, tantrums, and sullen silences. But wasn’t that at the heart of his decision? Not her moods or defiance, but his inability to handle them. His own fears and lacks. There were times when he simply didn’t know what to do. While he had managed to muddle through her childhood with reasonable success, the past year had unnerved him. There was no manual for rearing an adolescent girl on one’s own. He needed help. His mother was eager to see more of her grandchild, and his two younger sisters were like teenagers themselves. When things got rough, he could call in the cavalry.

Gabriel started to clear the table. Yes, it was the right decision. For both of them. Now all he had to do was convince his daughter.

eep in the woods, the spoor of red mist trailed through the trees. Squirrels sat up in their dreys, alert. The chirr of insects ceased. A fox stopped in its tracks, nose to the air, hair bristling. A wild rabbit thumped the ground
. Warning. Danger.
All held themselves rigid, awaiting catastrophe
.

At first the demon clung to the fetid shade of the undergrowth, avoiding the light that worsened its pain. In misshapen and inchoate form, it instinctively sought life to feed upon, consuming the insects that crossed its path. Killing brought relief. It grew ravenous for more. The mother bird screeched helplessly as her young were devoured. The hare tried to outrun its fate but to no avail. And the great antlered deer fought with ferocious courage before it, too, fell
.

As the shadow’s strength grew, shreds of image and memory coalesced into thought
.

It had a mission
.

A target to destroy
.

What? Or who?

It knew that it did not belong to this place, yet it had been here before. Before the fiery blast that had ravaged its mind
.

So much was lost. So much it needed to remember! And even as it grasped for knowledge, it sensed the two worlds that existed around it, peopled with many different beings. One world was solid and visible; the other of a different fabric, lapping against the first like waves against the shore. In which of these worlds would it find its prey?

And how could it carry out its mission in its crippled state?

It needed to grow, to learn, to know
.

Creeping through the half-light of dusk, under cover of the forest canopy, it came to a clearing where a bonfire burned. The warmth and brightness of the flames repelled it, but it did not flee. Already it sensed some kinship here. Cloaked in gloom, it watched and waited, brooding upon the scene
.

A band of brave companions sat together, laughing and talking. Drinking cups were passed among them and plates of cheese and oaten bread. The chieftain was a robust man with a weathered face and a hearty laugh. There was a flame within him as bright as the campfire itself
.

With the firelight flickering in his features, the chieftain put a question to his comrades
.

“What is the most beautiful sound in the world?”

They cheered at each other’s replies
.

“The calling of a cuckoo from a high tree.”

“The song of a lark breaking suddenly over a field.”

“The belling of a stag across the water of a lake.”

“The laughter of a lovely girl.”

“The whisper on a beloved’s lips.”

“What do
you
think is the most beautiful sound in the world?” they asked him in turn
.

He let out a great roar.

“The music of what happens. That is the finest sound you will ever hear.”

Their merriment was painful to endure, but the demon felt drawn to the circle. For there was one in the company who was not unlike itself. Yet it had to be careful. Already the leader suspected its presence and was peering around the campsite with a frown. One of the women shivered. The chieftain stood up, signaling to his lieutenant to scout the area
.

Too late
.

It was already moving among them, hiding in the shadows they cast themselves
.

sea breeze blew through the open windows to cool the stuffy interior of the old Triumph Herald. Air conditioning could not be expected in a car built in the 1960s. The leather upholstery was sweaty and Dana’s legs kept sticking to the seat. She didn’t complain. She had grown up in that old car: naps in the backseat during long drives through the country, picnics on the side of the road in the rain, journeys by ferry to Brittany and the Outer Hebrides when Gabriel played in Celtic music festivals.

She threw a furious glance at her father. All that would go too! As the first shock of his announcement wore off, she faced the magnitude of what lay ahead. How much she would lose. Her best friend. Her soccer gang. Her street. Her life.

“Once you start school, you’ll make new friends,” Gabriel had said that morning, in an effort to cheer her up.

“It won’t fix what’s gone! Nothing can. You know that!”

As soon as the words were uttered, she was sorry. He looked as if she had hit him.

“Oh Gabe … Da … I didn’t mean …”

He stood up to put the kettle on for tea. She flinched when she saw the slump of his shoulders. He was more sensitive than she, more easily hurt.

They continued their breakfast in silence. The toast felt dry in her throat and she started to choke. He handed her a glass of orange juice and rubbed her back. She smiled apologetically through the tears caused by her coughs. He smiled back.

“Let’s go to the glen today,” he suggested. “I need to talk to the lads. Maybe you could see a tree house?”

It was a peace offering, almost a bribe. He had refused to let her near the tree houses built by the eco-warriors in the Glen of the Downs. She had been begging to climb up to one since the environmental protest began earlier that summer.

It was an old story befalling an old country that had suddenly found itself new and rich. Economic progress was rampaging across the land. Green fields were being smothered in concrete and tarmac, small villages swallowed by urban sprawl. Winding roads lined with hedge-rows were disappearing into webs of roundabouts and motorways. Though the Glen of the Downs was a Nature Reserve protected by law, the government had approved the widening of the road that ran through its heart. Great tracts of trees were marked for felling in order to accommodate a four-lane highway. Eco-warriors had arrived from around the world to join the protests of Irish environmentalists. Setting up camp in the endangered woods, they halted all work at the site by living in tents on the ground and tree houses in the branches.