The Light-Bearer's Daughter (4 page)

Gabriel slowed the car as the speckled peak of the Sugar Loaf Mountain loomed ahead. Past the mountain, the road wound like a snake through the Glen of the Downs, a deep gorge torqued by the tidal forces of an ancient glacier. On either side of the road, the slopes rose skyward for over three hundred feet, cloaked with forest. To the right, above the tree line, an old famine wall crested the ridge like a broken crown. Painted crudely on the stone in great white letters was the cry:
WHO WILL FIGHT FOR THE GLEN?

Turning left into the parking lot, Gabriel drew up the Triumph under a banner strung between two trees.
NO MOTORWAY HERE.
Dana was out in an instant. They were already inside the forest, surrounded by tall beech, birch, and oak. Only a few yards behind them, the road was hidden by greenery. The susurrus of the speeding cars blended with the soughing of the wind in the trees. The understory was lush with nettles and purple foxglove. It had rained earlier and the air was rich with the smell of loam.

Dana loved the glen. She and Gabriel often hiked its trails. When the protest began they had joined up immediately, helping with petitions, supplies, and fund-raising. Though many locals viewed the eco-warriors as hippies and troublemakers, there was widespread support in the community for “the tree people.”

GIVE TREES A CHANCE
.

THE EARTH DOES NOT BELONG TO US
WE BELONG TO THE EARTH.

IN WILDNESS IS THE PRESERVATION OF THE WORLD.

THE DEATH OF THE FOREST IS THE
BEGINNING OF THE END OF OUR WORLD.

The banners and signs were everywhere, hanging from the trees like gigantic catkins. Dana raced past them and into the clearing where the eco-warriors had set up their central command. The area was surrounded by Scots pine, with a carpet of brown needles and cones that crunched underfoot. Here the protestors gathered around the campfire for meetings and meals, and companionship when they weren’t on duty. Though legal action was being taken to evict them, they were using the time to build support for their cause.

After weeks of living and sleeping outdoors, the eco-warriors looked a little rough, as if gone to seed. In muddy boots and soiled clothing, with straggly hair and unshaven faces, they sat around the fire on old chairs and a burst sofa. Dana thought of them as a gang of outlaws, like Robin Hood and his Merry Men. Big Bob was the leader, a broad-shouldered bear of a man with laughing eyes and a booming voice. His hair was sandy-colored and so was his beard, and he wore faded dungarees tucked into his boots. An organic farmer from County Monaghan, he had left his farm in the hands of his wife and grown children in order to lead the protest.

“Seems right to go when you’re called,” he would say.

The moment he saw Dana he hurried over to give her a great hug.

“How’s the youngest eco-warrior in Ireland?” he roared.

“Ready to fight the good fight!” she shouted back, as always.

“That’s my girl! Got a barman joke for me?”

“I do!” she said, delighted. She had been saving it. “A priest, a rabbi, a minister, a blonde, and a dog went into a bar. ‘What’s this?’ said the barman. ‘A joke?’”

Big Bob laughed loudly and clapped her on the back.

“Goodgeon!”

The others made room for her at the fire. A blackened kettle sat in the flames, boiling water for tea. Cracked cups and mugs were passed around. Everyone smelled of burnt wood. Though occasional breezes caused clouds of smoke to billow around them, no one moved. Instead, they sat like ghosts in a fog.

Dana smiled over at Billie, an English backpacker with piercings in her ears, nose, lips, and eyebrows. The tattoo of a blue serpent ran up her arm. Next to her was Murta, Big Bob’s lieutenant, a wiry man who rolled his own cigarettes and was always talking on a cell phone. Several new arrivals introduced themselves to her, but it was a while before she noticed the other stranger, the one who hovered in the shadows of the trees, leaning against an old oak. He wore a black wide-brimmed hat with green leaves tucked into the band. His jacket, jeans, and T-shirt were also black. He didn’t join the circle but seemed to be watching them from under the rim of his hat. The others ignored him, but Dana kept glancing in his direction. Something about him made her uneasy.

The talk around the campfire concerned the illegal dumps found in the Wicklow Mountains.

“Tons of toxic waste,” Billie said, shaking her head, “polluting the soil and the groundwater.”

“It’s no longer a matter of politics or economics,” Big Bob declared passionately. “The ecological crisis is a moral issue. It’s a battle between what’s right or wrong for the Earth!”

Dana listened for a while, but once they turned to injunctions and legalities she lost interest. With nothing to distract her, she was left with her own gloomy thoughts about the move ahead.

Big Bob noticed her unhappiness.

“As the barman said to the horse, ‘Why the long face?’ Da giving you a hard time? Do you want me to box his ears?”

Gabriel signaled to him to let matters lie, but it was too late. Dana sensed an ally.

“He’s taking us away! Off to Canada!”

Big Bob looked dismayed. “You’re not leaving us, Gabe! When? Why?”

Gabriel shrugged. “I’ve been offered a job. The money’s too good to pass up. And I think it’s time. Time to go. Time to let go …”

His voice trailed away as he stared into the flames.

Looks were exchanged among his friends. Billie got up to pass around a packet of chocolate biscuits. Murta made more tea.

The conversation moved on to ways of raising money for the cause.

Dana’s heart sank as her hope of support vanished. Would no one take her side? Was she all alone? She heaved a sigh, scuffed the ground with her feet. And to make matters worse, by the time the cookies reached her, the packet was empty.

Billie caught her eyeing it ruefully.

“There’s more in the cave. Help yourself.”

She didn’t need much encouragement. Dana loved nosing around in the clapboard shack where they kept their supplies. Set back in the trees, the cavernous shelter had wooden shelves from floor to ceiling cluttered with groceries, books, tarpaulins, and sleeping bags. Rain gear hung from hooks on the walls. Cupboards were crammed with cooking utensils, tinned goods, and sacks of rice and potatoes. Dana was rummaging through the foodstuffs when a blast of wind buffeted the shack. Everything rattled and shook, but nothing was disturbed except for a packet of chocolate biscuits that landed at her feet.

“Hey! Great!”

As she stooped to get it, she was suddenly aware that she was no longer alone. She straightened up. There stood the man with the wide-brimmed hat. She hadn’t heard him enter the cave. A strange nervousness came over her. There was something about him that she didn’t understand. Was he young or old? She couldn’t tell. His features were striking, pale and handsome. His red-gold hair was tied in a ponytail that draped over his shoulder. But it was the eyes that really struck her: bluer than any blue she had ever seen.

Shyly she offered him the packet of biscuits, but he declined with a smile.

“Follow the greenway.”

Though he spoke quietly, his voice resonated in the air. She was reminded of Gabriel’s blackwood flute.

“What?” she said.

He lifted his hand to his hat. She thought he was saluting her, but he plucked a green leaf from the brim and handed it to her. A ticket? An invitation?

“My lady awaits you.”

Again he spoke softly, yet the words were unmistakably a command. She would have asked questions but he didn’t give her the chance. Tipping his hat in farewell, he stepped out of the cave and back into the forest.

“Wait a minute!” she said.

Another blast of wind shook the trees. He was gone.

“That was weird,” she muttered.

But then none of the eco-warriors were what you would call normal. They were all “odd sods and bods” as Gabe would say. In fact, that description applied to most of his friends.

Dana stuffed the leaf into her back pocket and returned to the campfire. More tea was being brewed. More plans were being made. She groaned. They would be there all day. Slow death by boredom.

“Da, when can I see the tree houses?”

Before her father could answer, Big Bob responded.

“Let her go, Gabe. She’s safe here. We’re all over the place, like guardian angels.”

“All right then,” Gabriel agreed. “But no going near the road. And don’t climb any trees. You can look at them from the ground and I’ll bring you up later. After lunch. And shout if you need me. And—”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Dana said quickly.

Then off she ran, before he could think up more rules.

•  •  •

Big Bob grinned as Dana disappeared into the trees.

“She’s getting big. Heading for womanhood.”

“Don’t I know it.” Gabriel sighed. “It’s one of the reasons I want to go home. She can be a handful.”

“Twelve is a tough age,” Big Bob said, nodding with sympathy. “Half kid, half teen. Betwixt and between. I’m glad my lot are well out of it.”

“She needs a mother,” Gabriel murmured.

“Aye,” his friend said gently, gripping his shoulder.

wimming through layers of storied memory, the giant clutched at fragments of words and images. Were they pieces of a true tale that belonged to him? Or were they slivers of the spell that pinned him down?

Imdha toir torudh abla,

Imdha airne cen cesa,

Imdha dairbre ardmhesa.

Plentiful in the east the apple fruits
,

Plentiful the luxuriant sloes
,

Plentiful the noble acorn-bearing oaks
.

Fado, fado.

Once upon a time, long, long ago …

… there was a Mountain Kingdom that curved like a chain on the blue throat of the sea. It was a place of dark forests and windy peaks, of sunny glens and rushing rivers
.
The lakes and streams brimmed with trout and silver salmon. The trees rang with the song of bright birds
.

The King of the Mountain, the King of the Woods, was tall and broad-shouldered, of courteous speech and gentle manner. He did not care for war or battle. His chief delight was to roam the hills in the company of wild creatures, great and small. In the light of day, his peals of laughter rolled over the highlands like summer thunder. In the shadows of the evening, he swam in cool waters under the moon. Oh, how tranquil was his world! How green its valleys! How sweet the air and clear the waters!

And when springtime thawed the white frost of winter and everything living bridled with new joy, the Mountain King’s people would call out to him
.

“Will you not marry?” chirmed the birds
.

“Will you not take a wife?” hummed the bees
.

It was a question they always asked and one to which his answer never wavered
.

“I am waiting.”

Then falling silent, he would gaze upward into the glimmering night, and hope would dim his eyes till he was almost blind
.