The Hounds of the Morrigan

by Pat O'Shea

  They reached the top at last and reined in to scan the countryside spread out before and below them. In the distance three small figures could be seen, running.

  A slight smile played about The Mórrígan’s lips as her thoughts dwelt fleetingly on the thumbprint that she had placed on the table in the glasshouse.

  Chapter 11

  A faint and distant drumming of hooves made the children and Cooroo pause and look back a third time. They saw a small cloud of dust moving at speed between themselves and the Maamturks.

  ‘Here they come!’ Cooroo said.

  A spasm of dreadful fear struck Pidge before they ran on.

  ‘Keep your courage; keep your heads!’ Cooroo was saying; but they scarcely heard his words.

  It was like running from a bad dream.

  They ran over pasture land, they skirted round and ran through small clumps of trees. They ran over cut-away bogland, avoiding the deep pools of brown water. They crashed through the green blades of rushes, they scrambled over low stone walls; they ran up small hills and raced down the slopes, leaping over grassy hummocks, just missing rabbit burrows. Once, they followed Cooroo over a deep stream that was narrow enough to jump, holding hands.

  They were not conscious of any of these things; but one appalling thought struck Pidge as he ran—he and Brigit were now running in full view of the hounds and the bonds restraining those relentless and slavish animals were now broken.

  Brigit was flying over the ground in a blind trance, the whole of her small being intent on putting the greatest distance possible between herself and The Mórrígan. She was totally, utterly, silent. The strap of her precious schoolbag snapped and the bag fell to the ground behind her; but she would not stop and she didn’t want Pidge to stop—when he hesitated in his stride, she gave a small scream. He read the fear in her face, so he ran on.

  After a long time, Pidge dared to snatch a look back. He was immediately sorry for he was sure that their enemies were gaining on them. Later, he felt compelled to look again; and he was even more certain that the distance between them had shortened. The truth was that it had shortened; but not as much as he feared.

  And then Cooroo did a strange thing. He made a snatch at Pidge’s hand—the hand that held the pebble in a tight grip—and then he ran away from them at an angle, going northwards and eastwards.

  The children were so stupefied and shocked that they stopped running. Pidge was overwhelmed with the miserable feeling that they had been betrayed. A few seconds elapsed before he realized that the pebble was still safe in his hand. It had all happened so suddenly.

  There was one backward look of farewell from Cooroo, and then he was moving swiftly with his legs going at full stretch and his head up.

  Still half-dazed, Pidge and Brigit watched him go, and then they saw that the Mórrígan was dividing her forces. In moments, the six and twenty she-warriors with half the hounds at their heels were swerving to follow Cooroo. Pidge understood that the fox was risking his life again and he felt a sharp stab of sadness and regret. He said nothing to Brigit, however; and they were both running again now, driving themselves to go faster and faster.

  And even though they knew that The Mórrígan wanted merely to keep them in sight until they had led her to Olc-Glas, as Cathbad had said, their fear was terrible. Pidge’s greatest wish was that they would find somewhere to hide in this open country; but it seemed quite hopeless. Another look back and he was very slightly cheered to feel that the distance between themselves and The Mórrígan was more or less the same. It seemed that she was not gaining on them.

  But now he knew what it felt like to be hunted, finally, they were quarry!

  And then a small wind came from before them to add to their troubles. It wasn’t a cold or a strong wind, but it was rather horrible in the way it carried sharp dust to throw at them and blind them. No matter which way they turned their heads, the wind found their faces. It seemed to swirl all round them and they were forced to run with heads bent, to protect their eyes. And Pidge thought: this wind has nothing to do with Needlenose—it isn’t friendly, it isn’t full of air.

  Under their feet, the grass became withered and thin. The wind prevented them from seeing where they were heading; and all that they could really notice was the ground as they ran over it. There was a sudden change and the grass was grey and blackened; and in the end, they reached a part where the grass failed and the earth had a dark crust like burnt bread and puffs of black dust powdered at their feet at every step.

  In spite of the wind, they managed to look around them.

  Everything was stricken with a kind of blight. The bushes and rare scraps of grass looked sick and ailing and there was an oily, shiny look to things. On the crippled bushes, the leaves hung like smuts on cobwebs and there was a peculiar smell, half-sweet, half-nasty, that was unlike anything they had ever smelled before.

  They stopped moving while Pidge shielded his eyes and looked behind to see if they could possibly turn back and run a different way. But The Mórrígan’s hounds had fanned out into a half-oval. Pidge realized that they were boxed in, because every hound was in a position to run at them in a straight line whichever way they went. It was something like the way sheep are penned.

  Even though the distance between the hounds and themselves was still great, he was terribly afraid to make an attempt at changing direction, so they faced on again.

  Ahead of them now, they could dimly see a pale grey rock formation of low ridges. A hope jumped in Pidge that it might be a place where they could hide, or where they could dodge their pursuers. At the very least, they would get away from this horrid scorched place.

  ‘It makes me feel sick,’ Brigit said.

  ‘There must have been a terrible fire here,’ he said, guessing an explanation.

  When they reached the grey rocky place, they found something like an avenue created by the rock rising on either side of an empty narrow space like a path. The walls made by the rock were not very high; just a bit taller than Pidge.

  Just before going in they noticed a bubble, like half a giant Easter egg, that was resting on the ground. It was revolting because it wobbled with the movement that was inside it. It looked like a blister. They were glad to walk into the avenue to get away from the sight of it.

  Inside the avenue it was humid and damp; and in there, the smell was more persistent. The sky pressed down on them like a heavy blanket, the atmosphere was entirely oppressive, and they could hardly breathe. No sooner had they gone inside than Pidge felt that he had made a dreadful mistake; but he comforted Brigit by saying that when they came out on the other side, they would surely have left this awful area behind and they would run on grass again. There was no question of being able to run now; the ground was slippery from an oily moisture. They plodded on and on through this disgusting place, passing the glistening grey walls with a shudder, and from time to time, a blister that wobbled. The avenue seemed endless.

  Some time later Pidge began to suspect that they were following a way that looped back on itself, or that they were going in a circle that was getting smaller. Although it was sweetish, the smell was almost choking them now and they were half-stifled by it. The wind still came and treated them roughly; but it had no effect on the smell.

  ‘This is another rotten place and I hate it,’ Brigit said in the end.

  But Pidge was silent.

  For he now realized, that in spite of all they had been through—they had arrived at a place that was a dead stop, where there was no way through the grey stone.

  This was the most appalling blow.

  Telling Brigit to wait and to try not to be too frightened, he bent his knees and launched himself at the wall. Even though one hand was clenched because of holding the stone, he managed to grip the top of the wall and he then dug his toes in and somehow scrambled up. He swung one leg over and sat; and shielding his eyes against the wind, he looked about to see where they were.

  His heart almost failed him th
en. He saw line after line of grey stone wall extending in stern enclosures all around the point they had reached. His stunned gaze travelled over them; and they were so many that he might be looking at the frozen wave-crests of a filthy grey sea, that went in a huge loop or whorl to a central place, and he saw that he and Brigit were in the lifeless heart of it. His courage went weak and he was filled with despair when he realized that there was no way out that he could see. If only the nasty little wind would drop, then he might see an escape! His head felt hot and he was incapable of thought. He stared a little while longer, before he was completely thunderstruck with a certain realization.

  ‘Oh no!’ he cried in deep despair.

  ‘What? What?’ Brigit shouted at him quickly.

  ‘We are in a maze!’ he answered, his voice entirely wretched.

  Chapter 12

  ‘COME down! Come down, Pidge!’ Brigit screamed and he jumped down and stood looking at her. He was in a stupor. It might even be that if she hadn’t shouted to him, he would still be uselessly astride the wall. He was unable to think of what to do. Crazily, his mind strayed to Cooroo and he wondered if he were lying dead somewhere by now. Quite suddenly he had an impulse to throw the foul stone away; to lob it as far as he possibly could over these grotesque walls. They had been through too much. If he threw it away all this would be over, he thought, feeling utterly depressed and without a spark of hope. The Dagda would lose the fight then, of course; but shouldn’t he be helping us? he thought miserably. Why doesn’t he help us?

  And this was followed at once by:

  Of course! The hazel-nuts! I must try a hazel-nut!

  He was conscious again now and his hand tore frantically at the bag in his pocket. He found a nut and picked it out between finger and thumb. It cracked before he could lay it on the palm of his hand and one half fell to the ground. In an instant, the part that was left showed a soft greyness that was lovely and in it there was a mixture of iridescent colours. One half-second more and a plump pigeon was perching on his fore-finger, calmly fluffing his feathers and blinking his eyes.

  ‘I am Radairc,’ he said. ‘Homing-Pigeon, First Class at your service. Allow me a few moments to spy out the land.’

  He looked enormous as he dipped briefly on Pidge’s finger before taking off. His creaking wingbeats seemed to fill their ears.

  He seemed to be gone forever but in reality he was back in a few seconds, and he came to Pidge’s finger with his wings fluttering creakily as before.

  ‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ he said, reassuringly. ‘Some of the walls are broken and I can guide you out. All of this is a trick of The Mórrígan’s, but if you do as I say, it might not work as well as she hoped it would.’

  ‘What does she hope for?’ Pidge asked very anxiously.

  ‘She has put this here to delay you, so that she will be in striking distance if the Great Eel is waiting for you at the lake. It’s not to snare you; it’s just to slow you down so that she can get closer. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said grimly.

  ‘But what is it?’ Brigit asked in a frightened voice.

  ‘We won’t worry about that now, Brigit. Will you just do as I say?’

  She nodded and Pidge nodded.

  ‘Right! First of all, you will have to retrace your steps a little way. Ready? Follow me!’

  Radairc took off again and, flying very low, he led them back along the path for some distance and then he perched on one of the walls. They hurried to keep up with him, feeling that he was their one desparate hope.

  ‘Climb over here,’ he counselled. ‘The part of the wall that is directly opposite to this in the next path—is broken down.’

  Pidge scrambled up the wall by his tried method and, when he was safely astride it, he reached down and grabbed Brigit with one hand, while she grabbed the wrist of his other hand, the one that held the pebble. He pulled, and she clambered, and in this way she got to the top. Pidge jumped down on the other side and held his arms out to her. Grim-faced and with her jaw set tight, she threw herself at him.

  ‘Oh, that was well done!’ Radairc said encouragingly. ‘No time to lose—come on now—straight across to the gap opposite you!’

  They ran to the gap, cutting across one avenue. Pidge felt disheartened again when he remembered how many more there were; all those folds of grey stone.

  ‘This way!’ Radairc said; and again he flew before them along a path, to stop once more where there was a wall to climb that would help as a short cut.

  ‘There is no simple way out of here,’ he warned them as they climbed. ‘It’ll be hard work. But I have spied out the way that is shortest and where you will still face Loch Corrib. So look on the bright side—you are under my wing now and I will take you home.’

  Far away in Shancreg, Old Mossie Flynn was still in his glasshouse.

  His attention was suddenly drawn to his little cat. Something behind Mossie had fascinated her and she was staring at it with the deepest intensity, Mossie turned to look, following the line of the cat’s vision.

  He saw what he thought was a cobweb and he went over to have a look at it, and to find out why his cat was so interested by it. It was an odd thing; but he wasn’t able to see any guy-lines of silken thread that might attach it to anything. His curiosity was aroused more fully and he bent his head to look under it. He turned his head and peered at it from a sideways viewpoint. After this he walked all around it.

  It hung in the air without support.

  Mossie concluded that he had made a wonderful discovery in Natural Science. The Hovering Shancreg Cobweb, he said to himself.

  He checked it all again, noting a little dust storm that was active just above it.

  ‘This is a very queer thing!’ he exclaimed, at last. ‘I’ll see if it floats!’

  He filled his lungs and blew at what he still took to be a cobweb.

  It didn’t tremble or float away in his breath, but to his disappointment, it collapsed in on itself and fell to dust.

  Quite suddenly, just as Pidge and Brigit were about to climb over yet another wall, there came a warm gust of air and all of the grey walls broke, whispered, and went to powder. The smell was gone, the rocks and blisters were gone; and the dusty wind was no more.

  Radairc flew above them, shouting:

  ‘Splendid! Splendid! Come on! One good burst of speed! You can do it!’

  He’s exactly like a trainer of athletes, came the thought into Pidge’s weary mind.

  In a great hurry now, they ran eastwards.

  ‘Follow me! Follow me!’ Radairc cried incessantly.

  Pidge wondered fleetingly how The Mórrígan had created her maze. It was well that he didn’t know that he and Brigit had been inside her thumbprint, that the strange bubbles were beads of her sweat and that the glistening on the rocks was a coating of the same sweet and evil-smelling moisture.

  He took one fearful look back and in his horror he was sure that The Mórrígan and her hounds had come closer. Terror stimulated him to even greater speed and he was matched by Brigit as he was holding her hand. They gratefully obeyed Radairc in everything he commanded. Although their speed had greatly increased again, the dread that The Mórrígan was shortening the distance between them filled Pidge with terror. In his mind the hoofbeats were louder and he could hear the laboured breathing of her horse and the slap of her legs against its sides.

  And now, at last, they reached the lake’s edge and they were fighting back terror. Because of the delay in the thumbprint, The Mórrígan had indeed gained on them but she was not as close in reality as she was in Pidge’s fevered thoughts.

  Radairc flew over the lake, calling:

  ‘Hurry! Hurry!’

  Pidge scrabbled frantically in his pocket for a hazel-nut. A greater anxiety seized him when his fingers discovered that the bag was empty, and he pulled it out and shook it, before throwing it away and trying his pocket again.

  Down in a dusty corner he found what was the v
ery last hazel-nut and his breath trembled out of him in relief. He held out his hand and the nut danced on his palm with the shaking of his nerves.

  The nut split open; and then misery and grief flooded through him when he saw two completely empty half-shells, jiggling about on his hand.

  Chapter 13

  PIDGE went rigid.

  His eyes stared as he foolishly waited for something to appear in the empty shells. The Mórrígan was getting closer with every second that passed and his whole mind was a riot of confusion and fright.

  Surely, surely, something would happen?

  Surely, surely, their need was known?

  At last he was forced to admit somewhere inside himself that the nut was empty and useless, and with a groan from his soul, he threw the shells away.

  He didn’t know what to do; he didn’t know which way to turn.

  In vain his hands searched his pockets in the useless hope of finding just one more nut; and even while he was doing this his eyes were fixed on one of the shell halves that was bobbing gently on the surface of the lake where it had landed.

  Brigit, who was looking behind her all the time, hardly realizing what was happening, was saying: ‘Why doesn’t it hurry? Why doesn’t it hurry?’—but her words came nowhere near him in his panic. Through the disorder in his brain came the realization that the half-shell that floated on the lake was growing.

  In the time it took him to draw in a wonderful breath of air, the nut-shell had become a small round boat, and Pidge grabbed Brigit’s hand and they jumped into it. He looked for oars or paddles but there were none; they had barely settled themselves when the boat started to move. It went as straight as a line in Geometry, right across the dark green, glassy and unrevealing surface and it seemed to slide over the water rather than cut through it.