The Summer King (37 page)

Laurel frowned, unsure of what she was hearing.

“Finvarra was pleased with the news. He was always a belt-and-braces man, and liked to get two for the price of one. To counter the power of the Summer King were two things to bind him: the Queen’s feather and the kin-blood of the slain. On top of that, the job would be done by a mortal, in the high tradition of Faerie.”

“Wait a minute,” she interrupted, her mind spinning. “Are you saying they knew in the past that Honor would die in the future?”

The cluricaun nodded reluctantly.

Angry tears pricked Laurel’s eyes. This was a betrayal she couldn’t have expected.

“Why did Laheen let it happen?” she demanded. “Why didn’t he stop the Summer King?”

The cluricaun heaved a deep sigh.

“Rare are the times the Old Ones intervene in the worlds, and when they do, ’tis only for the good of all. Yet it is told in the tale of the Doom of Clan Egli that when Ular came out of Faerie to be his bride, Laheen warned her that she would die one day at the hand of his enemy, and he bade her return to her homeland. But she who loved him chose her own destiny to be the Queen of Clan Egli and Mother of the Birds, and long and glorious was her reign till the hour of her death.”

“At least she had a choice,” Laurel said bitterly. “No one warned Honor!”

The little man’s look was sympathetic, but he shook his head.

“That isn’t true,
girseach
, and well you know it. Didn’t Midir himself try to dissuade her from the path, though he knew nothing of her fate? One way or another, all are warned who enter the Perilous Realm.”

She knew he was right, but she didn’t want to admit it. She would have argued further if her grandfather hadn’t walked into the room.

“Oh,” he said, looking around. “You’re alone. I thought I heard voices.”

The cluricaun began making faces at Granda. Laurel’s anger dissipated and she had to stifle a laugh.

Her grandfather spotted the golden feather jutting out from the book in her hand.

“You found it!”

“Yes, I did,” she murmured, offering it to him.

He placed it reverently to his lips.

“Who gave it to you, Granda?” she asked, curious to see what he would say.

He frowned a moment, and looked a little lost.

“It was a long time ago …”

He moved toward the chair where the cluricaun was seated, and the little man disappeared with a last wink to Laurel. Sitting down, Granda gazed thoughtfully at the feather.

“I’ve never told anyone this before, but I’ve always believed that I was taken by the fairies when I was young. I don’t have much to go on, only impressions and fleeting images, as if from an old story or an old dream. When I try to catch hold of it, it disappears like mist in the sunshine.” He smiled a little sadly. “It was a beautiful story, a beautiful dream, and I have been chasing it all my life. That’s why I chose, as a young man, to study folklore at the university and not law, as my father wished me to do.”

He let out a deep sigh.

“It will come back to you one day,” Laurel assured him quietly.

He looked at her fondly and nodded.

“As your grandmother would say, hope burns eternal in the human heart.”

Laurel continued along the promenade, refreshed by the breezes that blew across the sea. Turning her face to the sky, she felt the light kiss of the sun. Soon she would leave Ireland, even as she had left Achill, and the shadow of many partings hung over her.

It was after she had said farewell to Honor that Laurel wandered into the palace gardens newly bright with morning. Stepping out of her golden slippers, she walked barefoot across the lawns toward the maze. The grass was cool and damp with dew. As she entered the green shadows of the labyrinth, she inhaled the perfume of leaves and flowers. Remembering the solution from the view above, she navigated the winding pathways till she reached the center. And there at the heart of the puzzle, in the gazebo made of living birch, he waited for her.

He wore a light-blue tunic trimmed with silver, and a dark-blue mantle pinned with a brooch in the shape of a flame. The raven-black hair fell to his shoulders, bound with a circlet of sapphires. The features were Ian’s—the blue eyes, pale skin, and full red mouth—but the torment and anger were gone. His face was kingly and serene.

“Lady, art thou well?”

Torn by too many warring emotions, she could hardly speak. Her eyes rested on the brooch.

“You’re the Summer King.”

He took a moment to respond and when he did, he sounded as heavy-hearted as she.

“I am Ian but, yes, I am also the king. Yet his fiery nature which did such harm is bound inside me. I can contain it. I am stronger now … thanks to you.”

She remained silent.

He pressed on.

“I wish you to know that I will remain in Hy Brasil. My people have welcomed the change in me. I will do my best to redeem my kingdom and to restore what I can to those I have wronged.”

She couldn’t stop herself.

“You’re leaving our world?”

“I was never happy there. I did not belong. Strangely enough, or perhaps not so, I always felt that my real home, my true life, was elsewhere. There is nothing to hold me to the Earthworld.”

She heard the edge in his voice, the unasked question, but she ignored it.

“What about your parents?” she said, instead.

“I brought only pain into their lives. They will recover from their loss and be all the happier for it.”

She knew in her heart it was wrong. Her whole being cried out against it. But still she didn’t speak.

The labyrinth was already dissolving around her when he bade her farewell.

And then they were no longer in the palace gardens on Hy Brasil.

They were in the sea beyond Achill Head.

It was a shock of murderous wet and cold, white foam and icy water. Laurel’s instincts acted instantly to save her. Though her soaked jeans were weighing her down, she kicked off her shoes and thrashed against the waves to keep afloat.

Ian was nearby, flailing wildly.

The Lady of Doona
was just beyond them. Gracie was spinning the wheel, shouting frantically to her passengers to keep their heads up. A freak wave had washed them overboard.

Now Laurel heard Ian repeat his last words, just before he sank.

“Fare thee well, beloved.”

She tread the freezing water, hanging on by sheer will. Long moments to survive before Gracie could come. Moments that seemed to stretch forever. She knew what was happening. She understood what he was doing. He had to die in one world to live fully in the other.

The knowledge struck her heart like an arrow.

“NO!”

She dove beneath the water.

If I have not love, I am nothing.

Desperately she searched the shadowy depths. There, at last, she spied him. Sinking like a stone. Too far. Too deep.

She had to surface for breath, gasping wildly, sucking in as much air as possible.

Then she dove again.

Love is patient. Love is kind.

There he was, a blur in the darkness, falling downward. Though the Summer King knew how to swim, Ian was making no effort to save himself.

It bears all things.

Her lungs were bursting. Soon she would pass the point of no return, but she continued to swim downward. Now she reached out to grasp his hand. Their fingertips brushed.

He looked up in surprise.

Her body writhed with pain. Lights were exploding behind her eyes. She had come too far. She was drowning.

Love never fails.

He kicked his legs fiercely and caught her on his way up, surging through the water with all the strength at his command. They broke the waves together.

Love is as strong as death.

After Gracie had hauled them into the boat, they huddled together, wrapped in blankets. Their teeth chattered, their lips were purple, their hair was flattened against their skulls.

“It was my right to go home,” he murmured, though with no real force.

Her voice shook from the cold as she argued with him.

“Your kingdom can wait. You were born into this world. It’s your duty to live here.”

“Are we ever going to agree on anything?” he said, managing to grin.

She took his hands and held them tightly.

“Life isn’t as magical here, and you’re not the only one who feels like you don’t belong, or that it’s better somewhere else. But there
are
things worth living for. And the best part is you never know what’s going to happen next.”

She lifted his fingers to her lips.

The blue eyes of Faerie stared into hers.

“Eejit,” he said softly.

They were kissing each other when Gracie stuck her head out of the wheelhouse.

“Keep it up! Heats the blood!”

Laurel grinned to herself as she left the promenade and crossed the road, walking toward the street where Ian lived. Her smile widened when she remembered how his mother looked that first day he returned; when her son lifted her up in a bear hug. Behind them, the minister’s face had crumpled as if all his prayers had been answered.

The change in Laurel was obvious, too. Though still in mourning, she was lighter and happier, more at peace with herself.

Only Nannaflor expressed no surprise.

“I always said those two would be good for each other,” she pointed out to everyone.

Laurel was still lost in her memories when she heard the motorcycle behind her.

As Ian drew up alongside, she saw, for a moment, a dark-blue chariot with fiery wings.

He removed his helmet and caught her around the waist to pull her close.

“I got fed up waiting for you,” he said.

She laughed and kissed him. Then he handed her the spare helmet. Before she climbed on the bike, she asked the question she had been wondering about.

“Is your name ‘Ian’ in Hy Brasil? I mean, is it the Summer King’s name?”

“Nah. That’s my human name, the one my parents gave me.”

“What’s your other name then?”

Mischief flashed in his eyes.

“You wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.”

She gave him a little punch, then donned her helmet and sat behind him.

He kicked the bike into a roar, and they sped away.

As they turned the corner, onto the road that led up into the town, Laurel cast a last glance over the sea. Where the morning mist mingled with the sunlight, a vision shone on the waves. The White Lady upon her pale horse. Though she was far in the distance, on the rim of the horizon, Laurel could see her features. At first she thought she was looking at Honor’s face. Then she realized she was looking at her own.

a leanbh
(aah laan-iv)—my child, little one (vocative)

A stór
(aah store) – sweetheart. Literally, “treasure”

abú
(aah-boo)—forever!

Agus fasann úlla agus géaga cumhra ar an chrann is ísle bláth.
(aw-gus faw-sunn oo-laah aw-gus gay-gaah kooraah air awn ‘hrawn iss eesh-leh blaw)—And apples and fragrant blossoms grow on the low branch. A line from an anonymous love poem c. 1800,
“An Draighnéann Donn,”
The Blackbird. See
An Leabhar Mór, The Great Book of Gaelic
(Canongate Books, 2002).

An bhfuil Gaeilge agat?
(awn will gwale-guh aah-gut?)—Do you speak Irish? Literally, “Do you have Irish?”

An grá a théid fán chroí, cha scaoiltear as é go brách.
(awn graw aah hade fawn cree, haw squeel-tur awss ay goe brock)—When the heart finds what it loves, it will never lose it. A line from an anonymous love poem c. 1800 called “
Tá Mé i Mo Shuí
,” Sitting Up (All Night). See
An Leabhar Mór, The Great Book of Gaelic
(Canongate Books, 2002).

An Réilt
(awn rale-t)—The Star

An Sasanaigh sibh?
(awn sass-a-nig shiv)—Are you English? (you, plural)

boctogaí
(bock-togue-ee)—the word used on the western coast of Donegal (and here moved a bit south) for fairies who live in the sea or in caves by the shore. They are known to be wilder and far less friendly to humans than their counterparts further inland.

Bruíon Amhra
(bree-un ow-ra)—The Wonderful Strife, term used for Faerie warfare.

Bunadh na Farraige
(bun-naah naah fair-uh-guh)—The Kindred of the Sea, i.e., sea fairies

Caisleán Riabhach
(cawsh-lawn ree-a-vock)—anglicized to Castlerea, literally “Brindled Castle”

Ceol as binne de gach ceol.
(key-ole awss bi-neh jeh gock key-ole)—Music sweeter than all music. A line from the poem
“A’Chomhachag”
by Dómhnall mac Fhionnlaigh Nan Dán, c. 1540–1610. See
An Leabhar Mór, The Great Book of Gaelic
(Canongate Books, 2002).

Cill Dara
(kill darr-aah)
—
Anglicized to Kildare, literally “Church of the Oak Tree.”