The Summer King

by O. R. Melling

  Laurel heard the bones cracking, saw the blood seep through long black feathers, heard Ruarc’s cry of agony. Half-man, half-raven, he lay dazed on the ground, unable to move.

  With a yell of triumph, Ian lifted his arm. The jewels on the dagger glinted.

  Laurel saw that he meant to kill.

  “No!” she cried.

  With a flying tackle, she knocked Ian over. His aim went wide, his dagger slashing the air as he fell. Laurel landed near Ruarc. There was a moment when their eyes met, and she registered his surprise and acknowledgment. Then she scrambled upright

  Ian was also on his feet, cursing her.

  “There’s no time for this!” she said, furiously.

  Grabbing him by the arm, she dragged him away, running toward the western side of Slievemore.

  “Keep down!” she hissed, indicating the sky behind them.

  The flocks of birds wheeled over the peak like a swarm of bees. Laurel and Ian were on a lower slope, out of sight of the summit, but once the alarm went up, they could easily be spotted. They had to get off the mountain. Keeping low as they ran, they traveled downward over rough ground. To their right spread the blue sheet of Blacksod Bay. Ahead, in the distance rose the ridge of Croaghaun. All around rolled the broad boggy flanks of Slievemore.

  Laurel led the way, keeping the stone huts of Dirk in sight, her marker for the cove where she had agreed to meet Grace.

  “Where are the others?” Ian demanded, as they ran. “Surely you are not alone?”

  She didn’t answer him. Her mind was racing, adjusting her plan. Overjoyed as she was to have freed Ian, she needed to find the king. Thankfully Croaghaun was not too far away and, better still, accessible by boat. They would get there all the faster.

  When they reached the slope below Dirk that led down to the cove, she nearly wept with relief. There on the water, anchored like a gull on the waves, was The Lady of Doona. And there on the shore, beside an inflatable raft, stood Grace herself, in a red anorak as bright as a beacon. The sea woman leaned on her oars as if they were spears. She waved up at Laurel.

  A steep cliff path plunged to the cove through patches of rock and briar.

  “Is this all you’ve brought?” said Ian, incredulously. “Where is our army?”

  She stopped herself from yelling at him. She could see he had suffered at the hands of the Fir-Fia-Caw. And was he angry that she had taken so long to find him? With a pang of guilt, she conceded that if things had been reversed, he would have come for her sooner.

  She spoke firmly but patiently, as if to a child.

  “We don’t need an army. It would only attract attention. Look, the birds haven’t even noticed us yet. This is not what they’re looking for. A few people on a beach. A lone fishing boat. They’re expecting a big attack. If Ruarc didn’t see which way we went, we just might get to Croaghaun without a fight. We’ve got to free the king and head for Hy Brasil, but Grace will help us do that. And maybe Laheen.”

  His grunt showed that he saw her point.

  “There won’t be a battle?”

  “Not if I can help it,” she said. “No birds will die today.”

  They hurried down the cliff path, dislodging stones as they went, and then raced across the beach toward the skipper.

  Grace had pushed the raft into the water by the time they reached her. The sea woman’s face was creased with concern as she eyed the birds in the sky.

  “The king is at Croaghaun!” Laurel said, catching her breath. “We need to move fast. Our best bet is Laheen. He must know where they’ve hidden him.”

  Grace was already glaring at Ian when he planted himself in front of her.

  “We go to Hy Brasil!” he commanded. “Now!”

  Her face flushed angrily.

  “I give the orders. I don’t take them!”

  One of the oars was in the raft, but she still held the other. She raised it like a weapon.

  Ian was faster. He grabbed hold of Laurel and put his dagger to her throat.

  “Do as I say or her blood is on your hands.”

  Laurel was dazed with shock. What was going on? The world had suddenly turned upside down. Ian’s grip was hard, deliberately hurting her, and his tone so cold it sent a chill up her spine.

  Grace lowered the oar, and nodded curtly.

  Ian climbed into the raft, holding Laurel in front of him as a shield.

  Laurel exchanged looks with Grace. A mere flicker of the eyelids. An almost imperceptible nod. The skipper looked fit to kill.

  “You row,” Ian ordered Grace.

  He settled astern, pulling Laurel down with him. She sprawled helplessly as the knife pricked her skin.

  White-faced, Grace got into the raft. Her movements were awkward and she fumbled with the oars. As she struggled with their weight, she dropped one in the water.

  “You’ll have to help,” she said to Ian. “I can’t do it alone.”

  “Useless woman!” he swore. “Ever weak!”

  Laurel saw Grace’s look. Sword-eyes. He would regret those words when chance allowed.

  And that chance came the moment he reached for the oar.

  Laurel moved first, jabbing him with her elbow and ducking out of the way. Grace was already lifting the other oar high and brought it down on his head with a mighty whack. He keeled over, stunned. She hit him again for good measure.

  Laurel winced at the sound of the crack on his skull, but reflected grimly that he deserved it.

  “I don’t know what they did to him!” she said to Grace, “but he’s been acting crazy since I found him.”

  Sliding the oars into the water, Grace rowed the raft toward The Lady of Doona.

  Laurel moved Ian’s limbs to make him more comfortable, and gazed with worry into his unconscious features.

  “I should’ve rescued him sooner.”

  The sea woman let out a sigh. The look she gave Laurel was one of pity.

  “You won’t see, girleen, what you don’t want to see, though it is right in front of you.”

  Laurel stared at her, bewildered. Then it struck her. The dark truth she had denied since she found him in the King’s Cave. Her voice echoed her dismay.

  “Ian’s under the Summer King’s spell!”

  Grace sighed again and shook her head.

  “Ian is the Summer King.”

  hat’s crazy! Ian’s a human being!”

  Laurel was still arguing her point as the raft drew up alongside The Lady of Doona. She was a little surprised to see Cormac, the pirate queen’s first mate, on the modern fishing boat. In jeans and a T-shirt, he was leaning on the gunwales and winked over at her. Then he moved to haul the unconscious Ian aboard and, on Grace’s orders, bound him hand and foot. Laurel opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it. The skipper’s rage was unappeasable. Pale with fury, she pulled open the deck locker, pitched out its contents, and signed to Cormac to heave Ian inside. Then she slammed the lid shut and locked the hatch.

  “Weak woman, is it?” she said, with a satisfied snort.

  When they were underway, Laurel tried again.

  “The Summer King is fairy. Ian is human. My grandmother’s a doctor, she delivered him. And I saw the king in a vision. Ian doesn’t look anything like him!”

  “Of course not,” Grace said, shortly. “Ian looks like his human parents. But that does not change the fact he is the Summer King. Have you learned nothing from your quest?”

  She stood at the helm, feet planted apart, hands gripping the wheel. The smell of diesel greased the air. The engines growled. They had left the shelter of Dirk’s cove and were skimming over choppy waters on their way to Saddle Head. They had to sail around the tip of Achill to turn south for Hy Brasil.

  “Am I Gracie of your time or Granuaile? Is the island to which we sail real or imaginary? Is Ian of Faerie or of the Earthworld?”

  She trained her fearless gaze on Laurel.

  “Far more importantly, my foreign girleen, the question you have struggl
ed with since your sister’s death. Are we mortal or immortal?”

  In the immensity of that setting of mountain and cliff, endless sky and water, Grace’s words carried inexorable weight.

  Laurel choked back the tears.

  “I want to believe.”

  As the sea woman guided her small boat over the waves, her voice grew calm.

  “Perhaps it is not a question of belief, nor even one of hope. Perhaps it is something you already know. Let the soul rise over the intellect, as the sun rises over the sea.”

  But Laurel felt lost and confused. Though she understood what Grace was saying, she couldn’t accept that Ian was the king. There had to be another explanation for his behavior.

  When they rounded the tip of Achill Head, the isle of Hy Brasil appeared in the distance. Despite her worries, Laurel’s heart lifted. Over the waves came scented breezes and the faint strains of a sweet song.

  Gile na gile. Brightness of brightness. Shining cliffs rose above blue bays and zawns. Hills and glens bristled with woods. Agus fasann úlla agus géaga cumhra ar an chrann is ísle bláth. And apples and fragrant blossoms grow on the low bough. Ceol as binne de gach ceol. Music sweeter than all music wafted on the air. Laurel found herself longing for something only dimly remembered. An grá a théid fán chroí, cha scaoiltear as é go brách. When the heart finds what it loves, it will never lose it.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she murmured, with tears in her eyes. “Like heaven on earth.”

  They were crossing the borders of the Perilous Realm, where the world dissolved into myth. No longer sailing in Gracie’s small boat, they now stood on the deck of Granuaile’s galley. The crew scrambled over the rigging. Cormac, in the lookout, trained his telescope on Hy Brasil. The air resounded with the creak of wood and the whip-crack of the sails that snapped overhead. The ship raced over the rollers like a horse on the plain.

  Standing at the prow, cloak swirling around her was Grace O’Malley, the pirate queen.

  “Like heaven on earth,” she repeated to Laurel, but her eyes darkened as she surveyed the island. “Yet every garden has a serpent. Even heaven had its war.”

  Ian’s muffled protests could be heard from a hold below. Loud thumps erupted as he kicked against the hatch.

  Grace grinned with wicked glee and ordered her men to bring him before her. Though he was still bound, strong arms gripped him and a sword was held to his throat.

  “Did you have a fair crossing, my liege?” she asked him.

  Dirty and disheveled, he shook with rage.

  Laurel searched for signs of the Ian she knew, the Ian she cared for. The familiar features were almost exploding with rage. The same blue eyes glittered beneath the dark hair. The same mouth twisted in a snarl. She recognized that snarl. It only added to her confusion.

  “Your mission has failed.” He spat the words at her. The same voice, edged with venom. “I will never light the Midsummer Fire. Let Faerie fall, I care not. A fitting punishment for all who left me imprisoned. Hy Brasil will survive below the sea. And if humanity fades because it loses its dreams, all the better. I will celebrate its passing. The Earthworld would be a paradise without your race.”

  Though she flinched to hear his voice so filled with hatred, Laurel remained calm. She drew the golden feather out of her pocket.

  “I can make you light the fire,” she said quietly.

  His face went white, but with fury, not fear, and his laugh was so cold it made her shudder.

  “You may try to bind me to your will, but even if you succeed—and I doubt you could—it will do you no good. Once we set foot on Hy Brasil, my people will fight to free me.”

  Stunned, Laurel turned to Grace.

  “Is this true? Or a lie?”

  The pirate queen looked grim.

  “The truth, I’m afraid.”

  Laurel was speechless. No matter what she did, she was blocked at every turn.

  The sea queen drew her aside.

  “All is not as it seems. You hold sway over the king, though he tries to hide it. And so, too, does Ian. The king is caught in the human body, for it is heavier than his own, and though he appears to have the upper hand for now, that does not mean he can keep it. Appeal to the one whom you hold dear. He is there also.”

  Though the situation was bizarre, Laurel was beginning to understand. For one, it explained many things about Ian. She approached him warily. Two burly seamen guarded him with a sword at his throat, but she found herself wondering—which was stronger, ghost or fairy? She laid her hand over Ian’s heart. He trembled visibly but she couldn’t tell if it was with disgust or distress.

  “Ian, are you there?”

  Her voice was low, concerned. She felt as if she was fighting for his life.

  The king’s voice was cold.

  “I know what you are doing, but it will not work. He is only a part of me, and the weakest at that. I chose to enter a mortal child who would come one day to free me from the mountain. He has been mine since he was born, and I have resisted all human efforts to reform him. My nature will always triumph.”

  “That’s not true,” she said, with sudden confidence. “Ian has always struggled against you, I can see that now. He’s a good person. And he hates what you did to Clan Egli and the Queen. He loves birds.”

  “You lie!” the king screamed.

  But she had struck home. She knew immediately that Ian was there, by the light in the blue eyes and the familiar torment in his features. It all made so much sense now.

  “I’m sorry, Laurel. I can’t fight him. He’s stronger than me.”

  “He isn’t! Keep trying! You’re so much better than him!”

  She was about to embrace him, when a harsh laugh cut her short.

  “Come near me and I’ll tear you apart,” he swore.

  “Enough!” Grace signaled to her men. “Throw him overboard!”

  Before Laurel could object, the men dragged Ian to the side of the ship and heaved him over.

  Hands and feet still bound, he hit the water headfirst.

  “He’ll drown!” Laurel cried.

  Grace was already spinning the wheel and shouting orders at her crew. They scrambled to obey her. The ship came around and was flying from Hy Brasil.

  Laurel ran to the side to look. There he was, swimming toward the island, slicing through the water like a shark. It was that little detail that convinced her at last—the fact he could swim—and something broke inside her as the truth struck home. Ian was the enemy.

  She strode over to Grace and demanded angrily, “Why did you let him go? We need him to light the Midsummer Fire!”

  The sea queen raised an eyebrow at her tone, but answered evenly.

  “He was playing with us. Even I was distracted. Meanwhile, his people were gathering to attack. Had we taken him with us, they would have pursued. We are outnumbered. I only fight when I can win.”

  Laurel glanced back at Hy Brasil. Though it was fast fading behind them, she could see the flashing lights on the shore. Weapons glinting in the afternoon sun.

  Grace finished implacably: “We must gather an army. I know you hoped to avoid it, girleen, but as your friend and advisor I tell you now—for the sake of the mission, battle must be joined.”

  aurel stood alone on the ramparts of Grace’s castle, overlooking Clew Bay. Waves crashed on the rocks below her. Beyond lay a multitude of islands. From the tower’s position she could see across to the mainland, but her gaze kept returning to the beach below. She was observing the arrival of the pirate queen’s army. Countless ships had dropped anchor around Clare Island. Currachs were rowing back and forth to bring the captains and commanders ashore. The men were handsome and broad-shouldered, with shaggy manes of hair and long flowing cloaks. Armed to the teeth, they greeted each other with loud guffaws and friendly blows. Some were accompanied by pipers skirling tribal marches. The air crackled with excitement. The Queen of the Sea had called a gairm slógaidh. A hosting of war.

  Laur
el regarded the proceedings with a cold eye. She did not think battle was thrilling or glorious, and it was not what she had set out on her quest to achieve. Yet she had to acknowledge the truth of the matter: with Faerie you always got more than you bargained for.

  Her thoughts kept returning to Ian. She could hardly believe he was the Summer King. Of course it explained his erratic behavior, but were they two different people in one body? Or two sides of the same person? Did she really know him at all? She could see the dunes where they had lain together. Was that the Summer King too? The more she brooded on the matter, the more lost she felt. If only Honor were there. Her twin had always helped her sort out complications, whether with friends, boyfriends, parents, or teachers.

  She’s not here, Laurel reminded herself bitterly, and that was the core of the matter. Regardless of anything else, she had to save Honor, and if that meant going to war against Ian, then so be it.

  She was about to leave when Laheen dropped out of the sky and alighted on the parapet.

  “You are troubled.”

  His voice was kind and soothing.

  “Things are getting worse, not better,” she said.

  He was like a great golden statue. He had yet to furl his wings, and they stretched out on either side of him, radiating light.

  She felt her spirits lift.

  “I bring you good news,” he said, folding his wings. “The Fir-Fia-Caw will fight by your side.”

  As always, his words caught her by surprise.

  “Even though I freed the king? I thought—” Then she stopped. Of course. “They want to capture him again,” she said, nodding.

  “That is not the whole story,” Laheen said, quietly. “Something greater has happened. Long has Captain Ruarc been lost in madness, knowing nothing but vengeance. Though it meant the fall of Faerie, he would not free the one who murdered his queen, nor would he let the fire burn that destroyed his people.

  “Now a light has shone to ease the darkness wherein he dwells. Just a short while ago, after years of silence and exile, he came to me with a mystery he could not fathom.