Shadowmagic - Sons of Macha (16 page)

When it was done I felt the female tree ask,
‘Why would Macha take the child?'

‘I don't know.'

‘You will be judged,'
they both said.

‘I'm not ready.'

‘No matter,'
the yew replied,
‘we must know what you know.'

This wasn't like the memories that flash before your eyes when you think you are going to die. I've been that close to death enough times since arriving at The Land to know what that is like. No, this remembering was like re-experiencing my life over again. Not just the sights and sounds and smells but also the emotions. The warmth of my father's embrace, the sting of bullying at school, the pain of constantly moving home and the abandonment of friends. The loneliness of being the new kid. The excitement of that first kiss, puberty – oh gods, not again. The attack in my living room that changed my life for ever. The terror of Cialtie. The discovery of my mother – her first approving smile. The other smile – Fergal's smile and then no … Fergal's death. I knelt, paralysed, re-living my life and all the way through, stabbing like knives and caressing like velvet, were my emotions. My loves, my hates, my losses. Essa, Araf, Tuan, Spideog, Frank, Jesse, Brendan, Ruuuuuby.

When it ended I was in shock. Like when I killed my first person (an event I just replayed seconds ago) I was unable to think. I was unable to … be. I was emotionally spent, not even able to weep.

‘What can we give you?'
the tree spoke into my throbbing head.

I hardly heard the question. I fell prostrate on the ground. ‘I don't ever want to go through that again,' I moaned.

‘Very well,'
the tree replied,
‘from this day forth, you, Conor of Duir, have safe passage through Ioho.'

I rolled over on my back and looked up at the branches and needles blocking out the sky. I tried to imagine ever coming here again and knew I never would. At least not alone. ‘And any of my travelling companions?'

‘And all that travel with you,'
the tree said without hesitation.

I rolled over and propped myself up on all fours. Then, making sure I didn't touch the tree, I tried to stand. I was wobbly but intact. I felt the tug of the yew and placed my hands once again on its rough bark.

‘You have given us much to contemplate, Prince of Hazel and Oak. We would like to give you a gift but you are unworthy of a wand or bow.'
The female voice then spoke.
‘We have seen that you often fight with banta. Accept this with our blessing. May it serve you well.'
The familiar sound that I now know is moisture being sucked from wood, followed by a crack, preceded a large branch falling from the tree. I picked up the staff and cracked off the smaller branches that were withering even as I looked at it. It wouldn't take much work at all to make this into a proper banta stick. I guess I was supposed to say thank you but instead I placed my hand again on the trunk and asked, ‘Where are my companions?' But the tree ignored me. I could feel a deep internal conversation that made me feel like I was a long-forgotten annoyance.

I tried to remember which direction I had come but couldn't. That was a lifetime ago. I tried touching another tree to at least get directions, but it seemed that free passage also meant screw you. I was ignored. I wondered what would happen if I decided to carve my initials in one of these trees – would it ignore me then? I almost took out the Lawnmower and put that thought to the test but decided against it. I had just survived a yew judging unprepared – pushing my luck might be foolish. I closed my eyes, spun around and then started walking in the direction I was facing. It was as good a way to go as any.

Even though every cell in my body told me to be quiet, I shouted out, ‘BRENDAN, NORA,' but eventually stopped. Not only because it felt so wrong to be making noise in here, but also because I'm sure if they heard me they would be too afraid to answer. Getting out of this forest was the only plan of action I could think of.

The day stretched on. The heat seemed to somehow radiate down from the closed green canopy. The air smelled of moss and didn't move. I had a mental image of filling a balloon with this air and when I got out, watching it sink. Late in the day I heard water and then made it to the river. I began to walk back the way I had come. I must have been upriver from where the boat was beached, either that or somebody had stolen it, 'cause I didn't once see it on my travels. All the while the yews ignored me. It was a strange feeling. Almost like being in a forest back in the Real World.

The sun was low with twilight threatening when I reached the sentinel yews at the entrance of the Yewlands. I had a choice of walking around deep into the forest or climbing the root-covered boulder on the riverside. As much as that tree scared me, I decided to test my freedom of the Yewlands and scrabbled up onto the arthritic roots of that ancient tree. The yew knew I was there. I could feel him/her but I wasn't stopped or interfered with. At the top of the boulder I was rewarded with the sight of Araf and Nora sitting next to a small fire. I shouted to them and received an enthusiastic wave back.

I had so many questions for them but I never got to ask them. As I climbed down I was startled by what I thought was a large yellow insect. It buzzed past my ear and as I watched it fly by it looped in mid-air and came back at me. As it came towards my face I raised my hand to swat it. At first I thought it was a bee or wasp that had stung me but when I looked at the back of my hand I saw it was another gold amulet. I withdrew it from the flesh of my hand; it was shaped like a small tornado. I recognised it immediately. It was almost identical to the one my mother had once given me, except hers didn't have a pin on the end. It was a
rothlú
amulet, and as soon as I recognised it it kicked in. After that, everything was pain.

P
ain. Imagine each cell in your body being removed then scrubbed with a wire brush before it was popped back into place. That's the feeling you get from a
rothlú
spell. I never thought I would be nostalgic about pain, but I remembered the last time I had this all-over body ache – my cousin was stealing my shoes. This time there was no tug on my foot to wake me. I opened my eyes the tiniest of cracks. I had no idea where I was but if it was daytime and out of doors, then the light was certainly going to be painful. Luckily when I opened my eyes I was greeted with gloom and deep shadows. I decided to give moving a try and discovered it wasn't a good idea. I dropped my head back onto whatever I was on and slipped back into unconsciousness.

It was just as gloomy when I awoke again but this time, moving was only excruciating as opposed to being beyond the threshold of consciousness. I seemed to be lying on a pile of fresh straw in what I first thought was a dungeon. I crawled over to the only source of light. It was a candle infused with sparkling gold dust, Leprechaun-made – so I knew at least I wouldn't be without light for a couple of years. Next to the candle was a shot glass with something that smelled mighty powerful. All of my instincts told me to leave it alone, but when I thought about it (which was difficult with the fife and drum band playing inside my head) I figured that if whoever got me here wanted me dead, I'd already be in the ground. I held my nose and knocked it back. My toes actually curled and my head tilted to a forty-five-degree angle. A full sweat broke out on my forehead and, even though there was no one there, I said the immortal words, ‘Haba yazza.' When my vision cleared and the impulse to vomit passed, I felt much better.

I was in a cave. I guessed that was better than a dungeon. I grabbed the candle and, careful not to let it blow out, I explored the perimeter looking for an exit. After two trips around, I sat down, confused. There was no way out. I went around again – this time slowly looking for a hidden door or a crack or anything but there was nothing. I must have been dropped in from above, but the walls were so smooth there was no way of climbing or seeing what was up there. That's when a memory hit me that filled me with panic. What if there is no way out? I remembered my father warning me that a
rothlú
spell could transport someone to the edge of a cliff. What if it stuck me in the middle of a cave that has no exit? What if I'm doomed to sit and thirst to death in a dark cave?

In all of my days and through all of my troubles I never had an actual panic attack. I was building to a good one but then thought, no, not a dark cave – a cave with a candle in it, a clean bed and a shot of hooch. Somebody brought me here, somebody wants me here. I relaxed, sat on my straw bed and thought. I had been stabbed twice with gold amulet darts. One knocked me out and the other brought me here. Somebody wanted me to drift into the Yewlands and whoever it was wanted me here. But who? I never heard of anybody using amulet darts but now that I thought on it – it was a pretty cool idea. And the
rothlú
that had got me in my hand honed in on me like one of Dahy's knives. All of this information didn't help me figure out who my captor was. Part of me, the same part that previously started to panic, feared that it was Cialtie but somehow this didn't seem like his style.

With nothing better to do, I picked up the candle and climbed onto the rock in the centre of the cave. I was holding the candle up, hoping to see if there was a way out from above when I lost my footing. It was a tiny stumble, I didn't fall but I jostled the flame enough to blow it out.

You just can't imagine how dark cave-dark is, until you're forced to endure it. The black seemed so opaque it felt like I could cut it. I dropped the candle and then carefully climbed down. Then on all fours I crawled until I found my pile of straw and sat. I sat staring into the sense-depriving darkness and started hallucinating shades of blackness. Imagine seeing wind – that was the kind of tricks my brain was playing with that total absence of light. I finally had to close my eyes. Strangely the darkness behind my eyelids was much more bearable.

I dozed again and in my dream, a small hand took my own hand in hers and led me out of the cave. Even though we were outside and I could feel the breeze and sunshine on my face I still couldn't see.

‘Is this what it's like for you, Ruby?'

She didn't say anything but I sensed her nodding her head yes. She led me down a grassy hill and asked very politely of a tree if I could have a stick. Together we walked with our sticks sweeping before us as we listened and sensed and smelled our way through a day that – even though I couldn't see – felt glorious.

‘See,' she said, ‘It's not so bad.'

Light. Blinding light entered the dream, bleaching out the mental image of Ruby and the pastoral scene. Painful blinding light burned into my eyes. I had to cover my face with my arm.

Where the dream ended and the reality began is open for debate. The blinding light focused itself into a doorway of light and in that doorway formed the shape of a man. It wasn't until I pushed myself up into a sitting position and felt the straw underneath my hands that I knew for certain that this was real.

The silhouette in the doorway said, ‘Come,' then turned and walked away.

The Lawnmower was still around my waist, so I drew it and walked towards the light.

My captor sat on a cave shelf looking out over a vista of endless sea. If I hadn't heard the voice I would have thought that he was a she. Long brown hair fell to the middle of his back. His clothes were animal skins – not the nicely tailored stuff my Mom often wears, but home-made pelts that wouldn't have looked out of place in a B grade caveman vs. dinosaur movie. He didn't turn around.

‘Put away your sword, Prince of Hazel and Oak,' he said in a croaky voice that made me think he didn't use it very often.

‘First I want some answers,' I said.

In reply, he threw a speck of gold out in front of him. It hovered in the air and then like a bullet zoomed in and hit me in the hand. I dropped the Lawnmower with a clang. When I tried to pick it up, I found that my right hand was numb and I couldn't move my fingers.

When I reached for the sword with my left hand, he said, ‘Do you really wish to lose the use of that hand as well?'

He had turned around, and in his hand was another tiny amulet ready to make it so I would need assistance if I ever wanted to zip up my fly. The long hair down his back was matched by an even longer beard. Even though he looked like a children's picture book version of a comic troll, his eyes told me that he meant business. I let go of the sword and stood. He turned back to his view.

‘What have you done to my hand?'

‘Sensation in your hand will return in a few moments. I have no desire to harm you, Conor. Come sit next to me and enjoy the vista.'

I've learned the hard way since arriving in The Land that when you're outgunned and outmanoeuvred the best thing to do is just say OK. So I said, ‘OK,' and sat. We dangled our legs over the ledge and looked out at a crystal blue sea edged by green rolling hills more manicured than any golf course. On a dock were two simple wooden sailboats. The place was postcard beautiful.