The Hunter's Moon

by O. R. Melling

  Findabhair met the Wise Woman’s gaze and recognized another who had lived in Faerie. She bowed her head in acknowledgment, then put her arm around Gwen.

  “I’ve only come back for a little while. To say my good-byes. I’m still the hostage. By my own consent, I will be the sacrifice.”

  ome away from this place,” the Wise Woman said quickly.

  Findabhair obeyed without protest, even as Dara caught hold of Gwen. Both were hustled from Dunfinn and back to Granny’s without a word. But the moment they were safely inside the cottage, Gwen exploded.

  “Are you crazy? You’re too young to die! And it isn’t even your battle! I’ve put up with your selfishness all through this adventure, off doing your own thing regardless of how it might affect anyone, but this is it! I’ve had it! I can tell you right now, you’re not going to do it. Do you hear me? The word is NO!”

  Dara stood in silent support as she wept and raged. Findabhair didn’t respond, but hung her head guiltily. When Gwen was finished, pale and shaken, Granny ushered them all to chairs by the fire.

  “Why have you chosen to do this, dear one?” she asked of Findabhair, who was slumped in her seat.

  “For the sake of Fairyland,” came the answer, so quietly spoken it was almost inaudible. “If I don’t, they’ll all be destroyed, along with Faerie itself. Like the other hostages before me, I go willingly. No mortal has ever been forced.”

  She leaned toward the flames that were mirrored in her eyes as columns of fire. She had the look of someone newly returned from a foreign land, not fully there. When she was handed a cup of tea, she stared at it awhile before taking a sip, then seemed surprised by the taste. There was something about her that shifted and changed. One moment she was formidable with regal calm and resolve, the next she was trembling, a young girl out of her depth.

  “I’m not going alone. Finvarra comes with me. He will abdicate his throne and let Midir rule in his stead. We had a terrible row over it. He wanted to take my place, but I wouldn’t allow it. That is my right as the sacrifice. He would do it out of love for me and his kingdom. I do it for the same reason. Don’t you see?” She turned suddenly to Gwen, eyes dark with intensity. “It is my battle. I am the Faerie Queen.”

  Gwen’s anger dissolved like mist in the sunlight. No matter how much she hated it, she understood the decision. The rescue of Fairyland. It was in all the old tales. Many a human had risked everything to keep that wondrous world alive.

  It was an impossible dilemma. How could she condemn her cousin or the Land of Dreams? The death of either was unthinkable.

  Gwen sat up suddenly.

  “If the hostages have always gone willingly, that means there has never been a fight. Could we challenge Crom Cruac? Save both Findabhair and Faerie?”

  Dara let out a low whistle.

  “By my kingship, we will try!”

  Despite their accord, both were stunned by the immensity of their own proposal. They were further surprised when the Wise Woman concurred.

  “All things are possible between heaven and earth,” she said slowly, a trace of awe in her voice. “I had a feeling we were heading for something momentous.”

  The full gist of their talk finally struck Findabhair.

  “Are you saying you’re willing to go with me and Finvarra? And to fight?” A flush of excitement brought color to her cheeks. For the first time that night she looked her old self. “We need a battle plan!”

  “Welcome back, cuz.” Gwen grinned. “I missed you.”

  They all began talking at once, but Granny took command.

  “We need a strategy,” she agreed, “but if the King has chosen to face Crom Cruac, he should be here with us, to discuss the matter.”

  “Would he know—” Gwen began.

  “He’ll know,” said Granny and Findabhair together.

  There was a moment’s silence as old woman and young girl regarded each other.

  “Will it be difficult for you?” Findabhair asked quietly.

  “No, but what about you?”

  “I’ve never been the jealous sort,” the younger said with a shrug. “That’s why I get along with them so well.”

  Only after Finvarra arrived did the others understand the meaning of this exchange.

  When the King of Faerie crossed the threshold of the little kitchen, a gust of wind followed, trailing leaves over the floor. It was as if a panther had stalked into the room. Cloaked in black night, glittering with stars, he moved with a languid, powerful grace. In that cozy, very human setting he appeared all the more wild and preternatural.

  Instinctively the four humans bowed toward the King. To their surprise, he bowed back.

  “Greetings, companions. I come to you most happily. Your decision this night resounds through the halls of Faerie like a call to arms.”

  He went immediately to Gwen. There was tension in the air as the two faced each other. Her attitude was ambivalent. Once again Finvarra had turned the tables. Despite all that had gone between them, they were now allies in the same cause. But how could she trust him after the things he had done? How could she like him?

  Though a faint smile played over the King’s lips, his eyes were grave.

  “My buttercup has become a mountain rose. A warrior maiden of high courage and strength. It was a game well played, and you won against the odds. It is good, methinks, to have the victor by my side.”

  She caught her breath. He did it again! His charm had disarmed her.

  “I’m glad we’re no longer enemies,” she said, and she meant it.

  “Then I hope we may be friends.”

  The King addressed Dara next. Laying his hand on the young man’s shoulder, he spoke formally.

  “Hail, King of Inch. I have known your ancestors, your line is noble. I am glad that you join me on this perilous venture.”

  Dara replied with equal ceremony.

  “All kings and princes look to the High King. It is my duty and honor to stand by you, Sire.”

  When Finvarra came to Granny, he took her hand and bowed to kiss it. There was a wistfulness to his actions that was also gentle.

  “Dear heart, thou art not forgotten. Always my people have watched over you.”

  “I know that,” said the Wise Woman. “And it has meant much to me.”

  The King’s glance rested a moment on her Claddagh ring, which showed two silver hands cupping a heart with a crown.

  “You never married? I would not have wished that for you.”

  “It was my decision,” she said firmly. Then a girlish laugh lit up her features. “There was no one who could replace you.”

  In that moment the others caught a glimpse of an old truth. Granny suddenly appeared as she had in her youth, Grania Harte, a dark-haired beauty who once was consort to the King of the Fairies. Then the image faded and there she stood, gray-haired and aged, yet tall and unbowed.

  Lastly, Finvarra came to Findabhair. He didn’t touch her, but his very stance was a caress. He inclined toward her like a reed in the wind.

  “We need no words, Beloved. Our fates are entwined until the stars fall. It is for you I have taken this path and I do so without regret. Whether fairy or mortal, love is all.”

  Her empathy with his speech was evident in the light that transformed her. She was no longer a girl but a woman, in the presence of the one she loved and with whom she would willingly die.

  Up to that moment Finvarra had been acting in the manner of a High King, with the genteel courteisie of the fairy race. Now he dropped his stately pose and stood before them in jeans and black T-shirt. With his dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, he appeared for all the world as a normal if strikingly handsome young man. His eyes were solemn.

  “We go as equals, friends, to meet our doom. For no one yet has survived the Hunter’s Moon.”

  t was late in the night. The hearth fire flickered fitfully as the last flames folded into a labyrinth of red embers. Shadows danced on the walls. Voices murmured in earnest
talk. The little group hunched over a mountain of books that spilled from the kitchen table onto the floor. Great tomes bound in leather leaned against volumes of parchment, vellum manuscripts, and modern texts in hardcover and paperback. There were even scrolls of papyrus. The books included grimoires, bestiaries, annals, fables, collections of folk and fairy tales, works of divination and numerology, and ancient histories. Some were gorgeously illuminated with colored inks, while others were so plain and stark they reeked of occult power.

  “Every magician’s treasure trove,” the Wise Woman told them, “is their store of wisdom, their library. Somewhere in these pages lies what we need. Look for items that mention power or battle. Numbers are important. There may even be references to the Worm itself.”

  “A cure for chicken pox,” Gwen read out loud. “Boil up sheep droppings in a bag in a pot and drink the water.”

  She put the book aside.

  “How about this,” Findabhair said, grinning. “A cure for warts: gather stones the number of your warts and throw the stones after a funeral, saying ‘Corpse, corpse, carry my warts.’”

  “They worried a lot about warts in the old days,” Dara commented. “This book has lashin’s about them. Here’s a good one. Take stones for the number of warts, put them in a bag, and leave them by the roadside. Whoever picks up the bag gets your warts.”

  “That’s nice,” said Gwen.

  “We have to sort the wheat from the chaff,” the old woman pointed out mildly, “like anything in life.”

  Gwen threw her cousin a despairing look as Granny produced yet another box from under the stairs. Despite hours of searching, they had yet to find anything.

  Findabhair leaned against Finvarra.

  “You must know more about this than any book.”

  He kissed her forehead.

  “I know only what has always been known, my love. At the heart of the story about your race and mine is this basic truth: mortals must act to save Faerie. If they do not, we die.”

  “Here’s a number thing,” Gwen said suddenly.

  The heavy volume was bound with metal clasps, its title was stamped in gilded letters. The Book of Numbers. She turned the handwritten pages trimmed with gold leaf. The script was old-fashioned with extravagant flourishes, but it was in English and readable. Each chapter dealt with a number, from one to one thousand, and contained poems, portents, and prophecies.

  “Didn’t you say seven had the most power?” Gwen asked Granny, as she flipped to the seventh section. She perused the pages quickly. Now her voice shook as she read out loud.

  Seven promises are made,

  Seven debts will be repaid,

  Seven litanies in leaves,

  Seven birds and seven sheaves,

  Seven yet may herald ruin,

  Seven at the Hunter’s Moon.

  Leaning over her shoulder, Dara was reading ahead on the page. He let out a cry.

  “Bigod, here it is! A charm against the Great Worm!”

  Granny’s hands trembled as she took up the book.

  “To kill the Worm wherein there is terror, seven angels may do so valiantly.”

  When no one spoke, Gwen finally asked, “So what does it mean?”

  “Our endeavor is possible,” Finvarra answered thoughtfully.

  Findabhair snorted. “If we find seven angels.”

  “We’ve got five right here,” was Dara’s point. “We’ll just have to do it shorthanded.”

  “NO!” Granny’s eyes flashed. She brandished the book as if it were a weapon. “If we are to challenge the universe, we must follow the ancient guides. To do otherwise would be arrogance, the seal of our ruin. If we do not find two more, we act to our peril.”

  “Two more who believe in fairies in this day and age?” Findabhair spoke bitterly. “And not only that, who love them enough to risk their own lives? We’ve as much chance as—”

  Gwen slapped the table so hard, the others jumped.

  “There are two more! Right here in Ireland! Two friends of mine! Wow, I can hardly believe this. It’s as if—” She stopped. Her face shone with wonder. “This is all meant to happen.” She grinned as the others gaped at her. “Well, I can’t be a hundred percent sure until I ask them, but I’m pretty certain we’ve got two more.”

  The deep frown that furrowed Granny’s brow vanished. Her words rang with a confidence that inspired them all.

  “Seven were the days of Genesis. Seven are the pillars of life. Seven will be the fires of the Apocalypse. No better number can ride the storm. As a Company of Seven we will forge our destiny.”

  With Gwen’s pledge to summon her friends, the night’s deliberations ended. The fire had smoldered into ash. The room was cold. Finvarra glanced out the window with a restless look.

  “I can bide here no longer,” he said, standing to bow. “Till we meet again, companions.”

  Findabhair left with him to walk in the garden. The night perfume of trees and flowers scented the air. Moonlight dappled the fields beyond the road. The shadow of the mountains loomed behind them.

  “Mortal dwellings are too close for me,” said the King.

  He was already assuming fairy form, merging with the cloak of night, drifting into the sky brooched with stars.

  “Go freely, my love,” Findabhair said softly, “till we meet again.”

  He stooped to kiss her and it was as if the wind caressed her lips, a warm wind but wild too, tasting of earth and leaves and rain-moist air.

  When she returned to the house, Gwen met her in the doorway.

  “It’s impossible,” Findabhair said, her eyes wet.

  Gwen gave her a hug.

  “Nothing’s impossible, cuz. After all we’ve been through, you should know that by now.”

  Dara had taken the daybed in the kitchen, leaving his room for the girls. The cousins settled down for the night, but with no intentions of sleeping. Despite the late hour they talked till it was almost dawn. There was so much to say, not only of the trial that lay ahead but of the adventures each had had when they were apart.

  “I am really and truly sorry,” Findabhair said, when she heard Gwen’s story. “What a wagon I’ve been! I got so caught up with Finvarra I hadn’t a thought for you, or anything else for that matter. I used to hate girls who dropped their pals because of some boy. But now I know what being madly in love can do to you. Were you furious with me? I wouldn’t blame you.”

  “Funny thing about that. I was and I wasn’t. Once I got over the shock of being on my own, and got the hang of doing things for myself, it was really great. If you had been there, I would have been following you around like a dope as usual. And another thing,” she added, in a moment of total honesty, “I was really glad you weren’t here when I met Dara.”

  “Oh God, yes, what a sweetie. We would have been tearing out each other’s hair for him.”

  They muffled their laughter under the blankets.

  “Is he your boyfriend?”

  “Yes,” said Gwen. “So keep your eyes and your hands off him.”

  More giggles. Then Findabhair sighed with envy.

  “You’re the lucky one. At least he’s in the same world as you.”

  “Oh yeah, sure, like I live in Ireland. You and I are both in for long-distance relationships.”

  They sighed together.

  “And who knows if we’ll even have that by the time this is over,” Findabhair said gravely.

  Gwen shook her head.

  “Call me Scarlett, but I’m not going to think about that till tomorrow.”

  Though her cousin eventually fell asleep, Gwen stayed awake. Light seeped through the curtains and into the room. It seemed to bring the glimmer of promise. A nameless thrill coursed through Gwen. She knew something wonderful was about to happen.

  The moment the tapping on the windowpane began, she was up in an instant.

  Padding barefoot from the room, in the long T-shirt she wore to bed, Gwen left the cottage. The morning was pale with e
arly sunlight and mist. The grass was cool beneath her feet. A soft breeze played in her hair. Moving instinctively, as if beckoned to follow, she walked around to the back of the house. There Granny’s wild garden trailed into a thicket of old oak and holly. On the threshold of the wood stood a tall rowan tree.

  Laughter bubbled from Gwen’s lips. Her childhood dream come true! Fairies at the bottom of the garden!

  It was just as she had always imagined. They bedecked the tree like a mass of bright berries. Tiny and winged, clothed in thistledown and spiderweb, goldenhaired, silver-eyed, they glittered like fireflies. Some were asleep, tucked under the leaves. Others flitted in the branches like jeweled hummingbirds. A few shivered as they shyly acknowledged her gaze. Their size took nothing from the wonder of their creation. Does the speck of a star diminish its beauty? Indeed Gwen regarded this cluster of fairies with the same awe she viewed the constellations of heaven. As above, so below. Here was life’s mystery in all its splendor.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, with tears in her eyes.

  She knew who had sent this precious gift. After all the hardship he had caused her, Gwen was now reconciled with the King of Faerie.

  atie Quirke strapped the last of her luggage onto the motorbike. Her mother and sisters hovered nearby, waiting to see her off. All were agreed that she deserved this holiday, and they kept repeating their assurances that they could run the farm without her. One last time Katie ran through instructions about certain lambs and calves. One last time she clung to her mother, whose own tears had begun to fall.

  “Enough of this nonsense, girl,” Mrs. Quirke said gruffly. “You’re well overdue a break. You just forget about us and enjoy yourself, do you hear?”

  Katie made an effort to control herself, but she couldn’t help wondering if she would ever see them again. From Gwen’s phone call she knew the nature of the mission, knew that it was dangerous and its outcome uncertain. And yet, though it made this parting painful, wild horses couldn’t have kept her away.

  The sky had darkened with the threat of rain. Katie donned her great yellow mack, and eased her helmet over her head. As if girded for battle, she mounted the bike. Waving her last good-byes, she sped down the road and out of the Burren, on the first lap of her journey north.