A Cage of Roots (18 page)

It was dusk when the uncles had finished their preparations. They kneeled beside Ayla’s prone body inside the ring of round stones, which were piled into a low wall. Finny, Benvy and Sean lay behind them, weak and tired. A roll of thunder grumbled in the brooding clouds and a few drops of rain fell. The three brothers were silent for a long while, each with his head bowed and eyes closed. They seemed so feeble now, like the discarded skins of once-great men. With another smack of thunder, they started to sing.

The harmonies wove together in cavern-deep bass; the
notes were mournful and achingly beautiful. The lyrics swooped and thrummed and danced together, moulded into ancient Irish words by the withered mouths. As they sang, each opened his shirt. On their chests were old, deep scars in the shape of a spiral. They each placed a finger at the start and traced the lumpy tissue to the centre, leaving a blaze of white where it went. When they reached the middle, they pulled the light out of their chests in thick threads.

The notes wavered for just a moment, then grew louder as the clouds boomed in unison with their fathomless voices. They placed the threads on Ayla’s chest and opened their eyes: they were brilliant white. The rain fell around them, but not a drop touched their bodies. The light sank into her as they pulled more and more out of themselves. The song dipped and soared, like a river underground. The black on her skin retreated, her true form gradually returning.

Taig reached a hand back and placed it on Benvy’s foot. Fergus did the same, resting his on Sean. Lann found Finny’s hand and held it. The healing glow coursed through them all, and their wounds faded, leaving fresh skin. It felt like being plunged into an icy pool on a hot day. The three voices joined in one low note while the gusts tugged at their clothes, their beards and hair. Ayla was whole again and her eyes blinked, awake. She looked around her and saw her uncles, recognising them despite their ageing, and she wept hot tears.

‘Goodbye, Ayla,’ Lann spoke. ‘Take our love with you, forever.’

The cold wind swooped down from the heavy, dirty clouds and took pieces of them away like loose leaves on an autumn oak, and then they were gone.

Shocked and tearful, the four friends held each other for a long time. Ayla was inconsolable at the loss of her beloved uncles, and wailed at the fact that she couldn’t say goodbye. It was a good many hours before they began to feel the huge surge of grief subsiding a little. Finny held Ayla’s face, and Sean squeezed Benvy tightly; they allowed themselves to feel happy just to be together again.

The pain inside their hearts couldn’t be doused, but they revelled in each other, checking for injuries and marvelling at the fact that they were alive and physically unharmed. They told one another their long stories, gasping at the dangers they had faced. The only thing Ayla’s friends left out for now was Taig’s betrayal.

‘We won’t forget them,’ Benvy said, and the others agreed solemnly.

‘Now we just have to find our way home,’ Sean observed. ‘How the hell are we going to do that? Can we open the gates like they did?’

It was the first time they had thought about it.

‘I think I have the power to do that now,’ Ayla said. ‘But …’

‘Thank God!’ Benvy said. ‘It’s going to be a long trek, but I can’t wait to get home!’

‘Agreed!’ said Sean. ‘I am going to eat the entire house, and sleep for six months!’

Their spirits were up, and the long journey back seemed achievable now that they had Ayla back.

But Finny was not smiling. He was looking at Ayla, concerned. ‘Ayla? What’s wrong?’

‘We have to go back.’

The other two stopped chattering.

‘Well duh! That’s what we’re talking about!’ Benvy laughed, puzzled.

‘Ayla?’ Finny asked again.

‘No. Not back home,’ she said.

The storm overhead was building. The wind threw out stiff gusts, while thunder drummed in threat.

‘Back in there.’ She was pointing to the foot of the wilted tree.

Sean and Benvy laughed.

‘Yeah, right!’ they said, nervously.

‘Ayla, what
are
you talking about?’ Finny demanded. The sky rumbled.

‘Those things: the creatures. I know what they are,’ she
said. ‘They were girls, just like me. They were taken in the hope that they were me. And they
were
cursed to live down there as those monsters. You saw it. I was nearly one myself.’

Finny, Sean and Benvy just stared at her.

‘We are going to save them.’ She turned and kneeled at the stump.

‘I feel … different,’ Ayla continued. ‘Something happened when they healed me: they gave me something. Something
more
. I think I can
do
things. I think I can open these gates!’

She let out a long low hum, and ran a finger in a circle on the stones. The ground cracked open. She turned to beckon them in.

‘Come on!’ she shouted over the tempest, now wild around them. A fork of lightning lashed at the earth nearby.

The three looked at each other, and then at their friend.

‘Wait! Ayla, your eyes!’ Benvy shouted.

‘What?’ Ayla asked.

‘They’re …’ Sean started.

Ayla’s eyes were burning with pure white light. Fronds of electricity flicked from their edges.

‘Let’s go,’ she said, and disappeared through the hole, back into the darkness.

MATT GRIFFIN is from Kells, County Meath, and now lives in Ennis. He has garnered a reputation as one of the most eclectic graphic artists in contemporary illustration, collecting awards and accolades for his work in publishing, advertising and, in particular, the field of poster art. His passion for visual design was always married to one for writing. This is his first novel.