by Sarah Rayne
He listened, outwardly courteous, to the tale of how Joanna could not be found anywhere, and he smiled inwardly when John Grady asked could they search the O’Connor lands.
“Certainly,” said Flynn, standing up. “Will I fetch my father?” Michael might be anywhere at this time of day, but Flynn was fairly sure he had seen the men arrive and gone straight to the Dutch barn to warn Amairgen and Portan. Aloud, he said, “Joanna is not here, you know.”
Again there was the cool note of arrogance in his voice, so that both men instantly thought: I was right! This boy has had her! This boy knows where she is! John Grady thought it was only what he would have expected; Muldooney thought you could never trust a Landgrabber not to sell you damaged goods. “We’ll take a look,” he said, standing up and glaring at Flynn, and Flynn smiled back. This is the most repulsive creature I have ever seen. He smells, and his skin is greasy and spotty. Oh Joanna, my dear love, is this the one your father would have given you to? And Flynn thought too that even had he not loved Joanna himself, he would have been sickened at the idea of her in Muldooney’s bed. But he remained polite, and when Muldooney said, “We’ll take a look,” and John Grady added, “We will indeed,” he said, “For sure, gentlemen. Will you come out now?”
John and Muldooney were puzzled. John thought that perhaps after all they’d made a mistake, young O’Connor had not the manner of one with anything to hide. Muldooney, less nimble-witted, thought wasn’t the boy walking straight into their trap, lamb to the slaughter. Not that Muldooney had ever slaughtered a lamb, nor yet a sheep of course, for properly speaking it was not a pig farmer’s job. Still, they’d set out to catch Flynn O’Connor, and it seemed as if they were going to do just that. Here was the boy leading them amiably through the square stone-flagged kitchen — Muldooney spared a look about him, and thought it was just as he had suspected, all manner of Lethe nonsense here, there was! Bunches of herbs set to dry, and dishes of brown eggs in a basket — a basket would you believe it! — and a smoke hole for hams and a side of bacon. There was nothing wrong with having a smoke hole, of course; in fact there were a good many people who argued that it was a prudent thing to possess, for how else would you keep a bit of bacon or a side of nice loin pork by you? But there were other things about this large sunny kitchen which would surely make a man contemptuous; there were gleaming brass pans neatly arranged along the length of a piece of furniture which Muldooney believed was called a Welsh dresser, but which he himself would not have given house-room to, for didn’t everyone know the Welsh for no better than watered-down Irishmen, and didn’t any decent Irishman properly despise anything that smacked of Wales!
At the centre of the room stood a long polished oak table, and who in the name of all the gods at once had time to set to and polish a table only for the look of the thing! The table was all set out with plates and cutlery and with a flagon of wine as well. Muldooney had seldom seen the likes, for if the two of them, father and son, hadn’t been intending to sit down at the table and eat their meal in what was a very Lethe fashion indeed, Muldooney did not know anything any more! A plain wooden platter with everything mixed up in it ought to be good enough for any man. But here was a separate plate for the bread, and a crock for the butter; there was a plate of baked potatoes decorated with parsley sprigs; there was another dish of broad beans, lying in some nonsensical sauce; there were glasses set out to pour the wine into! All to go with some slices of ham! Muldooney had never witnessed such sights before and hoped not to again!
John was not particularly concerned with the way in which Michael O’Connor and his son took their evening meal, although he had marked the flagon of wine, and thought it all of a piece with the latticed windows and the chintz covers and the copper jugs in the hall.
He was becoming very concerned about Flynn, however, for the boy was positively purring with affability and with what John supposed must be Lethe hospitality. The suspicion that they had, after all, made a mistake, solidified, and he was framing a careful explanation in his mind (not an apology certainly) when Flynn said, “And now for the search, gentlemen,” and he found himself swept along outside. But he thought he could be fully as polite as Flynn, because he knew the rules, and one of them was that you did not insult a man under the man’s own roof. But he thought he would wait his chance.
Muldooney was not watching his chance; he was suspecting Flynn of making game of them now, for nobody called you “gentlemen” in quite that way these days, and he was stung in his dignity, which is a place where no man — and certainly not a pig-farmer — cares to be stung. He thought that it was all John Grady’s fault that they were being insulted like this, and he thought that John Grady could certainly forget about having cheap bacon in the future.
Flynn, a little aware of his companions’ thoughts, and rather amused, was as bland as buttermilk. “Come through this way, gentlemen … No indeed, it is not the smallest trouble … And there is no saying that she mightn’t be here. People who are injured have been known to crawl for miles. And of course, our lands stretch rather far.” He smiled guilelessly at John Grady as he said this, and thought: start measuring up the acres, Mister Landgrabbing Grady! But you shall not have an inch of my family’s land!
He led them through the cluster of outbuildings, throwing out a warning to Amairgen in the Dutch barn as he did so, listening hard for Amairgen’s response. It came, just as they turned into the square courtyard where the milk churns stood. Yes Flynn, we hear! We understand. Do not worry. Flynn relaxed. All would be well. They had heard him. They knew that Grady and Muldooney were on a tour of the outbuildings, and Amairgen would go straight to the Glowing Lands, Portan with him. All Flynn had to do was to get rid of the two half-wits who were dogging his footsteps, and join them.
But he gave no sign of any of this. He opened doors into hen coops and fruit stores; he picked out an apple to munch as they walked across the yard, and offered one to each of his guests.
“Or there are some very good pears if you prefer. The crop was especially good this year. Did you ever try the wine the Letheans made from apples over in England? Cider, they call it, and there’s a grand powerful brew. You’ve never tasted the like in your life!” He grinned at Grady who looked prim and at Muldooney who could not be doing with all this frivolity and preoccupation with food and drink and the way you took meals, and so led the way to the Dutch barn.
John Grady, led hither and thither, scarcely given time to catch his breath, wondered after a time whether it mightn’t in the end have been a good thing to let Joanna go to the O’Connors. Seen on the map, the O’Connor farm had been just a jumble of miscellaneous outbuildings; a farmhouse and several acres mainly laid down to fruit. And there was that sinister belt of Glowing Lands to the southeast. He’d always been wary of that. But seen properly, seen at the hands of Flynn O’Connor, the place told a very different tale indeed. There were orderly rows of apples and pears and damsons; preserving sheds where the women of the village — and occasionally the men — worked to bottle the fruit to be later sold in Tugaim market. And sheep too! Everyone knew that you got a two-fold yield from sheep; there were the fleeces and the skins which could be sold for wool and for rugs and warm winter jackets. And everyone enjoyed roast spring lamb. Walking in Flynn’s wake, nudging Muldooney to keep up with them, John Grady, that cautious careful farmer, saw that this was a prosperous concern.
He still did not trust Flynn; he still thought the boy had Joanna secreted somewhere. Why else was he being so open? Why else was he letting them search where they chose? Oh, Flynn O’Connor was a wily one, but John was wilier still! You had to be up very early to catch Grady.
But he kept silent, he was polite and courteous; he took Flynn’s hand when the boy offered it, and he permitted himself to be escorted to the gates.
As they reached the curve in the roadway that took them just out of sight of the farmhouse, Grady closed his hand about Muldooney’s fat forearm, and said, “Now for it! Back the way we cam
e, and follow the boy wherever he goes!” He thought he had managed it rather well.
*
Flynn thought he had managed it rather well, even so, he thought they had precious little time left to them. Amairgen and Portan would be at the Glowing Lands waiting for him, for if ever dusk had fallen, it had fallen now. There was time to bid Michael farewell — “And there is an old Lethe blessing that says ‘God be with you,’” said Michael. “I daresay it means little nowadays, but I will say it anyway.”
“God be with you also,” said Flynn, and embraced his father quickly and roughly.
There was time to snatch up the small shoulder packs prepared earlier. “All the things I could think of that will not quickly spoil,” said Michael. “The best I could do.”
Flynn thought it would do very well. There were two small, corked flagons of wine, tucked in, and a finely honed knife. “For,” said Michael, “you do not know what you may meet with.”
There was a final look round the farmhouse for, thought Flynn, it is anyone’s guess when I shall see it again, or if I shall see it again, and it is the only home I have known. And then he was through the door, not allowing himself time to think too much about anything, not bearing to look again at the bright welcoming sitting room with its time-worn beams and the deep warm hearth.
He stepped across the yard and was at once swallowed up by the shadows.
*
John and Muldooney had crept back through the farm gates, and had lain in wait for Flynn in the shadow of the dairy. Muldooney had been querulous, saying he couldn’t see the point, and saying he was not used to skulking about in other people’s farmyards. John was not used to it either, but he thought they were doing quite well. He explained to Muldooney — who was sulking — that the boy, Flynn, had been misleading them all along, and Muldooney, who had not realised this, rubbed his hands together, and said, “Oh-hoo. So the boy will lead us to the pretty little dear, will he?” in rather a nasty gloating voice which John did not altogether care for.
But Muldooney was docile enough as they waited for Flynn, although he began to fidget after a while, standing on first one foot and then the other. John nudged him sharply — they dare not be heard — and after a moment, Muldooney unbuttoned his breeches and relieved himself, copiously and rather noisily, against the dairy wall.
“Hasn’t a man the need in this cold weather?” he said when John looked at him in disgust. “An’ it does no good to hold it in for hours like some people. I’m not standing here bursting my breeches for you or anyone. Be thankful I missed your boots, for it’s as dark as a bag out here.”
He stumbled after John as they followed Flynn, both of them keeping their distance. “Although,” said John softly, “I daresay he’ll never see us in this light.”
Flynn walked ahead of them purposefully and quickly, and John Grady’s hopes rose. Hadn’t the boy the very air of one going to meet a lover. Wouldn’t they have him on a charge of abducting another man’s conjoined property, and mightn’t they also have him on a charge of holding back pre-Devastation goods? The copper pans and the chintz-covered furniture of the farmhouse had made their impression. Yes, John would have Flynn O’Connor and his father on both charges before the week was out, and then wouldn’t the fine O’Connor lands and the fine O’Connor farmhouse fall into the Gradys’ lap as sweet as sweet.
Ahead of them were the Glowing Lands, and John stopped, Muldooney beside him, because both of them knew all of the stories, and now, faced with the reality of the Lands by night, faced with the gentle powerful spell of the Purple Hour, they hesitated. You could not, of course, quite believe in the old tales (monsters and half-men, all rubbish, thought John) but out here you could not quite disbelieve them either. John Grady, who had never been out alone in the dark before, because you could not count Flynn and you could not really count Muldooney either, began to feel unsure of himself.
The Lands seemed to him to become dreadfully alive. They shimmered and hummed and the light strengthened and deepened, so that at times it seemed to breathe with a life of its own. Standing there, the night sky behind them, John Grady, a man of scant imagination, thought, and was not the first to think, that the light almost seemed to both contain and conceal all those creatures of the myths.
He gave himself a shake, because it would not do to lose Flynn now. Beside him, Muldooney said in a whisper, “Did you see that? He’s going straight to the centre of the light.” And then, as both men stood watching, “There’s somebody in there waiting for him.”
“I see it,” said John. And then, in a much louder voice, “After them!”
*
Flynn had not been aware that he had been followed; there was no reason for him to think it, and Grady and Muldooney had been quiet. In any case, Flynn’s mind had been moving ahead, to where Amairgen and Portan waited, and to where the light had become alive again.
He felt as if it was a tangible thing, Amairgen’s welcome come out to meet him, and he felt as well the gentle shy presence of Portan. He thought: these people care about me! and he knew a great wave of affection and strength. They would do it; between them they would tear down the Time Curtain. They would go through the barrier erected by the gods at the dawn of the world, and they would find Joanna and bring her back.
Buoyed up by this immense determination, Flynn began to run across the last patch of ground, and as he did so, he heard John Grady’s voice. He hesitated for the barest fraction of a second, and then his mind had taken in and swallowed whole what had happened. They thought he was going to Joanna — well, so he was — and they must have lain in wait and crept after him. He heard them start after him, and he flung himself over the terrain, his lungs rasping, bright streaks of red and gold and silver before his eyes. The muscles of his legs were protesting and he thought he would surely fall if he could not snatch just one breath before they caught him. But he must not, and he dare not, and he must go on until he reached the others.
Amairgen was running forward to catch him, a dark silhouette against the bright light of the Lands, and Portan was with him, galloping along, anxious and eager.
Flynn thought: I can do it … only a little farther … I can do it, I can … And then for one terrible moment thought he could not.
Amairgen caught him as he fell, and half carried, half dragged him the rest of the way.
“Quickly Flynn, quickly! Are they pursuing you?”
Flynn, gasping, said “Joanna’s father … and her …”
“Ah,” said Amairgen. “Come then.” And drew Flynn towards the warm, scented, heart of the light.
“We should join hands,” said Portan, and Flynn, feeling hands take his, knew again the rush of strength and the certainty that they would succeed. These two will not fail me, he thought, and at once came the response.
Never!
They were at the very centre of the light now, and the rich warm scent grew stronger. Flynn was blindingly aware of an endless sheet of silver blue light, beaded with brightness as if it had been trailed through dew; he thought there were figures in the light, but could not be sure.
And then Amairgen was saying, “It is yielding! Do not lose hold,” and Flynn felt a shiver of pure power go through Portan. He tightened his grasp — they dare not become separated now — and as he did so, he felt sucked nearer to the light, and heard again the achingly beautiful music.
The horizon expanded in the pure clear light for as far as he could see, and there was a humming in his ears, so that he thought: I am going to faint.
And then the bright light seemed to part and yield and they caught sight of the dark misty forests of legend and felt themselves drawn nearer.
There was a shout from behind and a rush of movement, and as the Time Curtain opened more fully, John Grady, Muldooney at his heels, fell into the circle, and the Time Curtain drew back, and all five of them tumbled through into the deep past of Ireland.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Joanna and Cormac stood at the edge of
the forest and looked down into the valley. The sun was high and the hillside was lush and green. Behind them, a little deeper into the forest, they could just make out the camp; the to-ing and fro-ing of the Cruithin and of the Wolves; the cooking fires and the tents that someone had put up in a clearing. There was the cheerful clatter of pots and there was a splash of colour from the banners of the Wolf that someone had raised. Beneath them, the township of Muileann sprawled across the valley floor; the houses and the tall chimneys huddling together, a glint of light from a window pane somewhere at the centre. Joanna caught the rather comfortable sound of carts rumbling across cobblestones.
“Muileann,” said Cormac softly, and Joanna shivered and looked across the valley to the great rearing outline of the Giant Mill.
The people of the Miller …
“Must we go through the streets?” said Joanna.
“Yes. To reach Gallan and Cait Fian we have to cross the valley. From there we shall go through the Mountains of Morne.” He looked down at her. “I must raise as great an army as I can.”
“You have the Wolves.”
“Eochaid will have the Lions.” He smiled. “Would you trust a wolf against a lion’s strength, Joanna? I dare not take any chances. If I am to regain my throne, I must ride against Eochaid Bres and Bricriu with the greatest army that has ever been seen since the days of Dierdriu.”
The greatest army … the Cruithin and the Wolves of Cormac Starrog and the Wild Panthers of Cait Fian. Joanna frowned, because just for a moment, the image of Cormac, armies streaming out behind him, the pennants of the Wolf and the Panther fluttering in the breeze, was startlingly clear. She could hear the cheering and see the flowers thrown from the windows of the houses. She could hear the triumphant music. The horses wore brilliantly coloured caparisons, and the emblem of the Wolf rode higher than the rest.