She had been expecting to see the lilac bog land of north Mayo. Instead, she was standing on a white marble ledge gazing out over a vast pink and white blossoming forest of fruit trees, stretching for mile after mile unbroken to the horizon. Hundreds of rainbows arched above it across a turquoise sky, and around the horizon pure white mountains shone. A sparkling rose-quartz cliff sloped upwards behind her, its pointed summit disappearing into the blue; vines tumbled down its crystal walls, and from every crevice of the rock face thrust yet more blossoming fruit trees, haloed in pale blue clouds of butterflies.
Shay had pushed his way out of the brambles and had come to stand beside her. Aoife turned to him, wide-eyed, speechless. A strange joy was rising in her heart, like a warm tide. Was this the world of the Tuatha Dé Danann, the Land of the Young?
He, on the other hand, seemed a little sad. He said, a catch in his throat, ‘So we did die, after all.’
‘Oh . . .’ The tide of her joy ebbed. ‘Do you really think?’
‘A cliff falls on our heads and we wake up in paradise. What else could explain it, apart from our being dead?’
‘I don’t know . . . I just feel so alive . . .’ Really hungry, for instance, even after eating the blackberries. ‘You think we’re in heaven?’
Shay turned to her, studied her face, then slightly smiled. ‘Well, I know I am, anyway. I’m not sure about you.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Maybe you’re not dead. Maybe in the real world, wherever it is, you’re walking around, still alive.’
‘But I’m here, with you!’
‘Of course you are. My heaven wouldn’t be perfect without you. And if this is my heaven . . .’ Shay seemed suddenly very happy, though in a slightly wild way; the depths of his green eyes glinted gold, like the sunlit floor of streams. He took her hands, and his flesh was warm; he pulled her gently towards him, then transferred his grip so he was holding both her hands in one of his. He used his other hand to tilt up her chin. ‘If this is my own perfect heaven, made especially for me . . .’
His mouth came close to hers.
Aoife held her breath. Vaguely she was aware that the birds had stopped singing, as though everything in Shay’s heaven was waiting to see what was going to happen next—
A high-pitched, unearthly howling replaced the silence of the birds, and three voices were screaming and shouting at once.
‘CLOUD IT AGAIN!’
‘I’m trying!’
‘AGAIN!’
‘It’s getting away!’
‘I CAN’T HOLD IT!’
‘Move, move, move!!!’
With a high scream, Donal came bolting out of the fringe of the woods, scrambled up to the ledge and shot straight past them into the cave – his cheek was badly slashed. Ultan and the big bright-haired girl came streaming after him, dragging a large net between them.
‘Get in!’ the girl yelled at Aoife and Shay. ‘Cat’s coming! Get in! Are ye fools or what? Get in!’
Once inside, Caitlin and Ultan hastily tied the net over the mouth of the cave, securing it to several thick tree roots that had forced their way in through cracks and crevices. Then they flattened themselves against the walls on either side of the entrance, watching the net like spiders watching their web. Shay pulled Aoife beside him against the damp marble wall; he said in her ear, ‘Are these the guys that rescued us?’
‘That boy there was one of them – I wonder what happened to the little one?’ Donal seemed to have disappeared entirely – but then Aoife saw the top of his head bobbing about at floor level near the back of the cave; he had hidden himself in the hole left by the collapsed tunnel. ‘And that cute little kid back there with the bright red hair.’
‘What are they playing at, running from a cat?’
‘I’ve no idea . . .’
Ultan reached out and tested the net with his hand. ‘Caitlin, do you think maybe you should just blast it, soon as it appears?’
‘Danu, no. Don’t want to kill it. Just cloud it. Ye’ll be able to give it a good dose when it’s stuck in the net.’
‘Just, it got a taste of Donal’s blood—’
‘Here it comes!’
A split second later, a huge white cat came leaping over the wall of brambles like a demon out of hell and crashed straight into the net.
Caitlin screamed: ‘Cloud it! Cloud it!’
The creature was a domestic white cat – yet it was monstrous, nearly two metres long from nose to tail. It was struggling to free itself, rolling around in the net, screeching like a tortured soul, clawing at the strands, lashing with its tail. Aoife was sick with horror – she felt Shay pass his arm around her, holding her against him.
Caitlin shrieked, ‘Ultan, it’s getting free!’
‘I’ve got it!’ Thick black smoke was pouring from Ultan’s hands and the beast was writhing, frothing at the mouth, eyes rolling, choking, clearly weakening, drowning in the fog . . . With a last furious effort, it tore the net apart with its teeth, broke free and headed straight for the back of the cave.
Ultan shrieked, ‘Look out, Donal!’
Donal’s bright head popped up over the edge of the hole to see what was going on – and that was a terrible mistake. The cat seized his whole head like a ball of red wool, stuffing it into its mouth, wrapping its giant paws around his waist, sinking its teeth into his neck.
With an inarticulate but warlike yell, Shay launched himself from Aoife’s side towards the monster, throwing himself full-length on the beast’s back. The cat instantly bucked him off against the cave wall. At the same moment a hydrant of blue fire burst across the cave – it came from Caitlin’s raised right hand and hit the cat square at the base of its spine, setting its tail on fire; the creature yowled and rose up on its hind legs, whipping Donal’s body even harder from side to side – there was a sharp crack, and the child’s muffled screams from inside the monster’s mouth abruptly ceased.
Aoife still could not move. A terrible energy was rising through her and yet at the same time paralysing her, as if her body were being drained of blood and slowly refilled with freezing acid; with a great effort, she managed to raise one hand towards the dreadful sight of Donal, limp and broken-necked, being dragged around like a dead mouse . . .
The cat, now seriously on fire, dropped the boy and crashed over onto its back, writhing and mewing in agony. The others threw themselves upon it, Ultan wrapping the net around its paws and head, Shay jabbing with his key-ring penknife at the creature’s ribcage – buttercup-yellow blood bursting from every hole he made. Caitlin was shouting at Shay, ‘Stop, ya fool! We have to bring it back alive!’
At last the cat lay trussed too tight to struggle free, bleeding from its wounds, fur smouldering, hissing faintly in its throat.
Donal’s small body was curled up in the corner of the cave.
Before Aoife could get to him, Shay had already gathered him up, holding him against his chest like he had held the lamb on the cliff, touching the child’s closed eyes, his wounded neck, his limp white hands. ‘Come back . . . Come back . . .’
Ultan said, hanging over him, ‘Donie, Donie, come on – you’re in paradise, you can’t die on us now, man!’
The leather flask was still lying among the stones, where Shay had knocked it from Donal’s hands. Aoife pounced on it and shook it desperately into Donal’s mouth. No red liquid dripped out.
Ultan groaned hoarsely, ‘He used the last of it on you two, man. Generous to the last.’
Caitlin, standing further back with her arms by her sides, said grimly, ‘Sure, it was only juice. He never had any real powers. Not old enough. Came home too soon.’ Blue fire was still draining from her hands in fits and starts like they were gas rings on a cooker not completely turned off.
‘He can’t be dead!’ Aoife was trying desperately not to cry. ‘He can’t be, he’s too young—’
‘Wait,’ said Shay. ‘Wait.’ He pushed back Donal’s bright red hair, lowered his head to drop a light
kiss on the child’s bared forehead.
The child stirred; eyelashes fluttered open; he smiled, his pale skin flushed, freckles darkened, his hair seemed to turn an even deeper red, eyes not pale blue but brilliant sapphire; he looked up at Shay and said in a voice as high and clear as a bell, ‘Did you ever meet my mam and da? They’re called Padraig and Mary McGoldrick.’ And then his face slumped against Shay’s shoulder, and he was gone.
CHAPTER THREE
They chose a final resting place for the child beneath a large spreading apple tree on the edge of the forest, and lined his grave with dandelions and kingcups, meadowsweet and wild violets. The warm breeze through the apple leaves shook down fruit and blossom into the freshly dug earth.
Aoife found it unbelievable, shocking, desperate, that her first act in heaven was to dig a grave, and for such a little boy. What manner of paradise was this?
And the guilt . . . Her heart was breaking with it. She was the only one who had done nothing to try to save him. Miserably, she pulled up armfuls of wild bluebells and threw them down into the hole. Ultan was sitting on the grass by Donal’s body, his head buried in his arms. Shay was using his key-ring penknife to strip the bark from two willow wands. The girl was standing at the edge of the grave with her arms crossed over her flowery blouse and strings of wooden beads.
As she dropped in the last of the bluebells, Aoife asked through tears, ‘Do we know where is his mam and dad?’
Caitlin slowly turned her head to stare at her. She was taller than Aoife, wide-shouldered and big-boned – her face strong and commanding, freckled pale, with stone-green eyes. ‘How would we know?’
‘We have their names – Padraig and Mary McGoldrick. Is there no way of finding them to tell them what’s happened?’
The girl continued to stare at her. ‘You do know he wasn’t talking about his real parents, don’t you?’
‘But he said—’
‘Those were the humans who brought him up, before he came home to this world. And what would they be doing here? We are fairies. This is our world.’
‘Donal was a fairy?’
‘Are you thick or what? Course he was fay, a changeling same as you and me. Only reason he had no powers, he came home too young. Did you imagine he was one of those stupid useless human children got themselves stolen by the banshees?’
The contempt with which the girl said ‘human children’ turned Aoife’s skin cold – she glanced quickly at Shay, who was binding the willow sticks into a cross. ‘Then shouldn’t we tell his real parents, from this world?’
Caitlin shrugged, flicking back her bright red plait. ‘Gone to the islands long ago. We’re on our own here. Didn’t you know? Danu’s sake, will you stop crying.’
Aoife sobbed helplessly, ‘Why should I? He was only a little boy and his parents don’t even know he’s dead.’
‘He’s not dead.’
‘What do you mean he’s not dead? We’re burying him!’
‘For Christ’s . . . Danu’s sake, this is paradise – don’t you get it? We’re fay! We don’t die! Did the druid not teach you anything in Falias? Did you not pay attention to your instructions? If fairies get damaged in their original form, they just transform and come back in a different way. It’s all in the book. It’s not dying, it’s being reborn. Ultan, pull yourself together – this is not a human funeral!’
‘Sorry . . . Sorry . . .’ The soft-faced lad was wiping his nose on his sleeve. ‘It’s just reminding me of when Trisha died.’
‘Transformed.’
‘When she got transformed. Reborn.’
‘The daisies are coming up on her already, hey?’
‘I know, I’m sorry.’
‘So stop blubbing. The sooner Donal begins his transformation, the sooner he’ll be after being reborn again, like Trish.’
‘I’ll get on with it, so . . .’ Ultan raised Donal’s body gently from the grassy bank where he had been lying, jumped down into the grave and placed him on the deep bed of flowers. He arranged the small legs stiffly straight in their short woollen trousers, and crossed the hands over the old-fashioned shirt, using the necktie to cover up the bite-marks to his tender throat. He laid a wild daffodil over the wound on Donal’s cheek, and stood over the boy for a long moment before climbing back out onto the grass. Clearing his throat, he said, ‘Caitlin, will you be wanting to say a few words?’
The girl rolled her eyes. ‘I said, this isn’t a human funeral.’
‘I know, I just think it would be nice.’
‘He’s going to be transformed and come back to us. We’re fay. We don’t have to say goodbye.’
‘Still, I’m thinking a few words . . .’
She turned away. ‘You do it if you want. Just don’t say anything thick and sad.’
Ultan took up position at the head of the grave, folded and unfolded his large soft hands. ‘Donal . . . um . . .’ He hesitated, large brown eyes rolling slightly up and to the left. Aoife assumed he was searching his head for the Catholic litany with which every person in Kilduff was buried, and knelt in the grass. Shay sank to his knees on the far side, his dark lashes lowered to his cheeks, the fresh-made cross lying on the grass by his side. The cat’s buttery blood was still splashed across his shirt.
Ultan said: ‘Donal . . . er . . . um . . .’
Shay crossed himself; the gold locket finely chained around his wrist caught the sun.
Caitlin was standing a short distance away with her back to the tree, arms laced tight across her chest, as if – despite all her show of not caring – she was clutching a heavy weight to her heart. ‘Get on with it.’
Ultan shot an anxious smile in her direction. ‘OK, I have it now . . .’ He brought his gaze back to the child lying in the hole at his feet. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, blackening it with a muddy streak. The feeling of his face being familiar came over Aoife again, though she still couldn’t place him. Maybe from a photograph? He straightened his shoulders.
‘Donie . . . Donal, you were – are – a very nice little boy and you deserve a bit of a rest after that terrible thing with the cat-sidhe – we’re sorry about that – so lie here under this earth for as long as you want and then wake and grow upwards until you find the sun and wind and rain, and then you can be reborn as flowers and trees and fruit because you know things grow very fast down here, and then insects and mice and stuff like that, and eventually we know you will come back to yourself as a fay . . . And enjoy the journey, OK? We all love you and we’re going to plant an apple right here on top of you, and we’ll come back every so often and see how you’re getting on with your rebirth, and when the tree is grown and has a few small apples on it, we’ll pick one and eat it, and if it’s very small but very sweet and not at all sour, then we’ll know for sure it comes from you, Donie, so until then, you know, farewell.’
Licking salt tears from her lips, Aoife remembered the bee she had crushed in her hand, and how she had buried it in the school grounds outside the history room, and how she had known deep inside herself that through that process the bee would be transformed. That roots would sink into its flesh and draw up its energy and make a flower, and bees would drink from it, and make other bees. She tried now to feel the same certainty about Donal, but it was harder somehow. Maybe she didn’t need to mourn the buried child. But still she felt heavy, like her heart was weighing her down. He had been so very small, and very sweet. And generous, as Ultan had said. He had poured all his hawthorn juice into Shay’s mouth, and even though Caitlin and Ultan didn’t believe it was actual magic, it had seemed to bring Shay back to life.
Ultan said, ‘I’m thinking we should cover him now.’
Shay said, ‘Wait a moment . . .’ and stood up from where he’d been kneeling, and took a handful of earth and threw it into the grave so that it pattered across the boy’s bare grubby knees, saying, ‘All-powerful and merciful God, we commend to you Donal, your servant. In this world he has died: let him live with you for ever. We ask
this through Christ our Lord.’ Then he jammed the willow cross he had made into the grass.
Aoife murmured into her palms, instinctively, ‘Amen,’ but Ultan looked anxious and Caitlin shouted furiously, ‘What are you – human?’
Aoife feared for a moment that Shay would tell the truth, and then the changeling girl would maybe start some sort of a horrible stupid angry argument before they’d even finished burying the fairy child. But he just stooped to pick up one of the split branches they had used to dig the grave and began to fill it in.
‘Come on, Caitlin,’ pleaded Ultan, following suit. ‘Take it handy. He’s new here. Come on, it’s not easy to forget all the aul nonsense right away.’
The girl glared at Shay for a long, suspicious moment, before saying, ‘Grand. Hurry up and fill that in, and let’s get back to camp before the rabbit is overdone. I’m that sick of burned rabbit.’
The changelings’ camp was a steep climb away, up a narrow rose-quartz path which zigzagged sharply up the mountain.
Caitlin ran ahead in long bounds – leaping high and gliding back down, brief bursts of something almost like flying. Ultan was only trudging slowly upwards. He had pulled off his shell-suit jacket and was carrying it over his shoulder. Underneath, he was wearing a Blondie T-shirt.
Aoife fell back to walk beside Shay, though the path was barely wide enough for the two of them. She said, ‘Do you think it’s going to happen – that that poor kid will be reborn?’
He said quietly, ‘Daisies grow on every grave.’
‘No, I don’t mean like that – you know what I mean: I mean coming back to himself. That girl Caitlin said it was different for us—’ She broke off; he wasn’t one of ‘us’ – he was human. ‘You know, perhaps you’d better not say anything about—’ She stopped, not wanting to offend him.
Shay said nothing to fill her awkward silence; he was looking closely into every cave mouth – one after the other crowded by blackberries and ferns. The wild, glinting happiness that had shone out of him when he’d thought he was in heaven had been replaced by a pale, serious expression. It was as if he were disappointed at not having died himself.
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