The Crow of Connemara (35 page)

Before Colin reached the intersection for the town center, he turned and made the long, slow climb up a walking path winding through the heather and brush from Beach Road to the Sky Road that ran around Ceomhar Head, knowing that farther out around the Head, he would normally be able to glimpse Inishcorr. At least he might be able to see if what the young woman at the marina had told him was true.

Gray streams of clouds rolled by overhead and a misty, erratic drizzle had started as he made the long walk. A few cars, their tire treads hissing on the wet blacktop, slid past him: tourists out to gaze at the lovely vistas the headland afforded. After an hour's walk, Colin reached a turnout beyond which the lower reaches of Ceomhar Head spread out toward the sea, with the closest islands hugging the coast. Beyond, gray waves rolled in to thrash white and foaming against the unyielding, stolid granite of Connemara.

He should have been able to glimpse Inishcorr from here—a low hump nearly on the horizon, on a good day blued with distance but clearly visible. Today, there was nothing. Out where Inishcorr lurked, he could make out two coastal patrol vessels, one of them a large “Róisín” class ship. Between them there was a white smudge, a cloud that appeared to have abandoned the sky and come to rest on the ocean's surface. Colin stared outward as if the intensity of his gaze could manage to pierce the fog and reveal the contours of Inishcorr, as if he expected that because
he
was there that the mists would part and the island reappear. Magically, like the mythical Hy-Brasil suddenly revealed behind its misty blanket once every seven years.

The fog remained stubbornly opaque.

Colin sat on the wooden railing at the edge of the turnoff. A steep slope ran down to a farm where distant sheep were grazing, a thin trail of smoke coming from the farmhouse chimney. A tiny form—the husband? the wife?—moved from the back door toward a barn. The landscape was bucolic, belying the presence of the patrol vessels. He watched the white dots of the sheep moving against the deep green of the field, glancing out past the shore to the implacable fog.

Out there was his lover. Out there were his guitars, his laptop, his clothes. Out there was the place he had been told needed his presence. Out there, he could feel deep in his gut, was where he was supposed to be. His destiny. He reached into his pocket and dragged out the cloch. He held it in his hand, gazing into its milky, green depths before draping the chain over his neck.

Maeve, talk to me. Show me that you're still there. Damn it, you said you needed me. Show me that I haven't done something really stupid. Again.

The stone was terribly cold in his hand, and again he thought he could hear faint whispers of voices in his head as he held it.
Maeve,
he thought silently, as if he could project his mind to hers.
I'm here. Give me a sign that you can hear me. Tell me how I can get to you. Help me.

If Maeve heard his internal plea, she didn't reply.

He stood there watching the play of clouds and sea until another quick shower curtained the view in rain, then he slid the pendant under the collar of his sweater as he turned to walk back toward Ballemór and Mrs. Egan's, still wondering how he could reach Inishcorr and Maeve.

A garda's car passed him as he was walking back toward the village, heading in the same direction. Colin gave it little notice until he saw the car stop just beyond him and back up with a whine of its transmission. The car stopped alongside him; the garda who was driving remained in the car but two passengers in the rear seat got out, a man wearing a naval uniform and Superintendent Dunn. They approached Colin, who felt a sense of trepidation.

“Identification,” the officer said without preamble, holding out his hand. Under his officer's cap, his blue eyes were cold and unsympathetic. Dunn said nothing. Colin reached in his pocket for the passport Dunn had just given back to him this morning, handing it to the man.

“Is there some kind of problem, Officer, Superintendent?” he asked, but neither answered. The officer snapped open the passport and scanned it. Colin saw the driver reach for the radio microphone. The officer gazed steadily and impassively at Colin's face before glancing once at Dunn.

“Colin Doyle,” he said, as if tasting the name. As Colin watched, he handed the passport to the garda driving the car, who picked up his radio and began relaying his passport number to someone. “You were just enquiring at the Beach Road Marina about hiring a boat to take you to Inishcorr.” There was no question in the man's tone. “Superintendent Dunn informs me that he'd already warned you about going back out to Inishcorr.”

“Yeah,” Colin told them. “I was warned.”

“Inishcorr is currently under naval interdiction,” the officer responded. “Going there would be a crime. For someone like yeh, here on a visa, that would mean immediate deportation.”

“I don't recall Superintendent Dunn mentioning anything about an interdiction.”

“The interdiction order was just issued a few hours ago,” the officer answered. “But the Superintendent advised yeh not go there, regardless, did he not?”

Colin could feel the heat of his cheeks reddening. “He did. I also told him I wanted to get the guitars and laptop I left out there. I was just seeing if that were possible.” He could feel Dunn staring at him, and he stared back. “From what I've been told, it appears it's not.”

“'Tis not,” Dunn agreed, and the naval officer nodded.

“Yer a friend of these Oileánach, Mr. Doyle?”

Colin shook his head and shrugged at the same time. “Yeah, I'm . . .” He paused. “. . . a friend of one of them,” he finished. “I went out to play music with them, to learn the songs they know. That's the reason I'm here in Ireland—to study music.” He had the sense that he was rambling, giving too much information and speaking too fast. The officer continued to stare, impassive, then turned away and leaned into the open window of the car, speaking to the garda who was driving. Colin couldn't hear what they were saying. Finally, the officer stood up again. He had Colin's passport in his hand, and extended it back to Colin. As Colin took it, the officer's fingers continued to grip the blue cloth.

“As the Superintendent told yeh, yeh ca'nah go out there, sir,” he said. “Those ones on the island, they've broken the law and taken land that isn't theirs, and they'll be made to leave one way or t'other. Yeh can't be there when that happens. Do we have an understanding, Mr. Doyle? I don't expect to hear yer name again in connection with trying to find a way out there. In fact, I'd advise yeh to leave the Connemara area entirely, just so there aren't any . . . mistakes. Go study yer music somewhere else in Ireland, why don't yeh? There's music a'plenty elsewhere in the other counties. Would yeh like a ride back to Ballemór with us, then?”

Colin shook his head. “No, I prefer to walk. You've given me a lot to think about.”

The officer let go of the passport, nodded to Colin once, and got back into the cruiser. Superintendent Dunn remained outside. He took Colin's arm and moved him a few steps away from the car. “Yeh understand the man, then,” he said to Colin.

“I do, Superintendent.”

“Good. Between the two of us, Mr. Doyle, I di'nah give a bollocks when the Oileánach took the island. I'da been satisfied to let 'em have it—and I di'nah push it until I had to. Same with yeh—if yeh'd been able to get yerself out there, whether to get yer instruments or to stay, I would'nah have cared. 'Tis yer business. But now it's all a pain in the hole with the Naval Services involved, and there's nothing either one of us can do.” Colin saw him glance back at the car. “Do yeh understand me, Mr. Doyle? The Oileánach will have to deal with others now, not me, and if yeh want to stay in Ireland, then yeh ca'nah go back out. Yeh see that?”

“I do,” Colin told him.

“Good. I hope yer as smart as yeh sound, then.” Dunn released Colin's arm and nodded once to him. The man's face nearly crinkled into a smile, then he turned and went back to the car. He opened the door and slid into the back seat with the naval officer.

Colin watched the driver start the car, swing it around on the narrow road, and head back toward Ballemór. Colin watched them, standing at the side of the road. When the cruiser vanished around a curve, he glanced back toward the sea, but even if the fog around Inishcorr had vanished, he could no longer have seen the island.

He began walking again.

27

T
HE WHITE SHROUD covered the island, masking Inishcorr from the patrol vessels around it but also making it difficult for the residents to move around easily. The fog was at its thickest about Keara's house, so much so that Maeve found herself stepping carefully, looking down at her feet because the ground even two strides away was hidden and indistinct. It would be easy to trip over a hidden clump and twist an ankle. She breathed in the fog, exhaled it, and her movements caused tendrils to writhe and snake around her. Reaching the door, she knocked; Niall opened the door. Beyond him, the small cottage was stuffed with fog in which shadows moved slowly, speaking in mist-hushed voices. “How is she?” Maeve asked quietly.

“Nah good. The girl's failing,” Niall answered, and she could hear the accusation in his voice and see it in the lines of his face.
It's your fault. She's doing what you commanded her to do, and it's slowly killing her. It's your fault.
Niall stood stolidly in the doorway, blocking her entrance.

“Then yeh'll let me see her,” Maeve said, and Niall, ponderously, stepped back to let her into the room. She could see a few others of the Oileánach there in the front room, as if holding vigil. They nodded to her as she passed into the bedroom where Keara lay—nodded with respect, but also with the shadow of the same accusation that had been in Niall's voice.

Keara's breathing was a hoarse rasp, and her voice a husk as she intoned the repetitive words of the endless chant that held the fog in place. Her eyes were closed, and the fog vomited from her mouth with every word, white and thick. Aiden, her lover, sat in a chair next to the bed, leaning over to wipe her brow with a cool cloth. He glanced up at Maeve as she entered. “How much longer does she have to do this, Maeve?” he asked.

“Not too long, I hope,” she answered. “I've felt Colin. He's free again and on the mainland. I'll be bringing him over now.”

Aiden nodded. His face was worried as he glanced at Keara, chanting on the bed. Niall had followed Maeve to the bedroom, leaning against the open doorway. “She ca'nah continue this much longer,” Aiden said. “I won't allow it. Three days now she's been at this without sleep, and 'tis burning her up. If we end up having t' fight to keep the island, Maeve, then we have t' fight. I'd rather it come to that. I won't be letting Keara kill herself just to keep 'em away for another day.”

“I don't want that either, Aiden.”

“She'd do it, though,” he answered. “Because it's yeh who asked, she'd do it without thinkin' about the cost. She loves and respects yeh that much. If yeh told her that she had to keep going, had to keep this up, she would do it until her last breath.” His eyes shimmered with threatening tears, and he sniffed almost angrily, blinking them back. “Yeh need to tell me that yeh won't ask that of her. Tell me yeh won't.”

When Maeve didn't answer, Aiden nodded with a frown. “That's what I thought,” he said.

“I still believe it won't come to that,” Maeve said. “Once Colin's back, once I have the cloch, we can start the process and Keara can rest. The others can hold off the leamh while we get the gateway opened.”

“So he's coming?”

“He is,” Maeve answered. “I know this. Very soon.” Aiden nodded, and Maeve moved to the bed. She caressed Keara's sweating face, brushed the damp hair back from her brow. Keara gave no indication that she was aware of Maeve's presence. She continued to chant with her eyes closed, her voice a barely audible mumbling, the white clouds billowing from her mouth, smelling strangely of the sea. “Colin will be on his way this evening,” Maeve repeated, leaning close to her ear, “and once he arrives, you'll be able to stop, Keara. You're giving us the time we need, my dear, and we all owe you everything. We'll remember this—your name will be forever part of the tales we'll tell when all this is over.”

She glanced at Aiden, at Niall.

“Soon,” she told them. “He'll be here soon.”

Outside, the air was cold and damp with the fog. Maeve pulled her cloak tight around her as she looked around the mist-curtained landscape.

“An' if he doesn't arrive?” Maeve turned around at the voice. Niall had followed her from the cottage. “If he changes his mind now that he's free and just leaves to go home? What then? Yeh'll let Keara die waitin' on him when we could be trying another way? When we could just let the leamh come and fight them? I thought you old gods and heroes loved a glorious death, even one in vain.”

“That way will cost far more lives than just Keara's,” she answered. “Yeh know that.”

“Aye. But it wouldn't cost Keara's, would it?”

“Her life is more important than anyone else's?” Maeve retorted. “She understands the issues and the danger, and she was willing, Niall. She was'nah forced. We're at war with the modern world, and she's a soldier. Soldiers sometimes die. That's the way of things, ain't it? She'd be one of yer heroes, eh?”

“'Tis easy for the queen to say, ain't it, when it ain't her life that's at stake.”

His words stung her as sharply as if he'd slapped her across the cheek. Maeve took a backward step. “If 'tis what you think, then yeh really don't know me a'tall.” She felt anger dispel the sympathetic tears that had filled her eyes while talking to Keara and Aiden. “Go and dry your arse, Niall, until yeh know what yer jabberin' about.”

She saw Niall press his lips together, looking off across the island toward the fog-hidden harbor. She watched his shoulders slowly relax. “Sorry, Maeve,” he grunted. “Yer right. 'Tis just . . .” He waved a hand, and tendrils of the mist moved with him. “I don't mind dyin' meself, if that's what it must come to. There are others feel the same. Watchin' Keara wasting away while I'm just doing nothing—'tis the hardest thing of all. I understand what you're saying, and yer right: if that fool of a leamh bard would come back so we could use him, that's what would be best. But yeh don't
know
that he will. Yeh
ca'nah
know that.”

“I can, and I do,” Maeve answered, tightly. “An' he's no fool, Niall, no matter what you believe. Colin's no fool a'tall. You'll see.”

Niall shrugged. “Then I hope you're right.” He paused, his gaze finally finding her eyes. “I
am
sorry, Maeve. Truly.”

She nodded. “'Tis fine,” she told him. “I know it was yer heart speakin', and that's all I can ask of anyone. Now, if yeh'll let me go, I need to talk to Fionnbharr. 'Tis time to push things forward, and he can do that, if I can convince him.”

As soon as she crossed the line of stones that marked the hill of the hawthorn tree, Fionnbharr appeared, leaning against the trunk as if he'd expected her. The mound of the hawthorn stood in an airy pocket free of Keara's fog, as if someone had poked a hole in the mist. Sunshine poured down on Fionnbharr, the tree, and the heather, although a circular gray wall of dense fog surrounded them, boiling and twisting as if angry at being held back.

“'Tis a lovely day,” Fionnbharr remarked. “At least locally.” He gestured to indicate the mound and the fog-free air about them.

“And if it weren't for Keara's fog charm, that lovely day would consist of Naval Services ships in the harbor and the invasion of Inishcorr. People would be dying, both theirs and ours.”

Fionnbharr grinned at her. “Och! Such a stop-the-clock grouch the Morrígan is. And are the Tuatha de Danann supposed to be afraid of leamh in uniforms? Are they going to find the path under the tree when I have it all warded and hidden?” He gestured back to the trunk behind him. “I'm not worried about leamh soldiers.”

Maeve gave him a round of mock applause, her handclaps dead in the still air. “Such a grand lord is the great Fionnbharr and such a warrior. Perhaps yeh can hide from the leamh, but the rest of us don't have such a refuge, and if we did, I'm tired of hiding away and waiting for the end to come—because the end
is
coming for all of us if we don't take the path to Talamh an Ghlas. Consider this: I would'nah be surprised if after the leamh took those of us in the village away, that the leamh would also knock down the stones and cut down the tree, and then where will yeh and yers be, trapped under the ground forever? We all have a stake in this, and yeh know it. Don't act like yeh and the rest of the sí have no cares a'tall.”

Fionnbharr sniffed. His booted foot stomped on the ground, and the earth shook underneath Maeve.

“Your little lamb hasn't come in for the slaughter yet, nor has he brought yeh back the stone that holds the light. I've heard the others complaining about the foolishness of yeh letting the man go, and the worse foolishness of letting him keep the cloch when we need it. So, were they right?”

“No,” Maeve answered immediately, her chin lifting. “I did what I needed to do, and he hasn't betrayed us. He's nearly here. I can
feel
him and the cloch across the channel, over on the Head.”

Fionnbharr nodded. He seemed to sniff the air to the east. “I'll give yeh that; I feel him also. Which tells me why yer here, Morrígan: yer magic can't reach out to him through the spell of Keara's fog, the leamh won't let him return here, and yeh want me to do the work for yeh.”

“Ultimately we're on the same side, Fionnbharr, are we not?”

He laughed again, his feet tapping the ground so it shook underneath Maeve as if a hundred horses were galloping below. “We're on the same side
for the moment
, not to put too delicate a point on things. That may quite likely change once this gateway is opened and we're through. My people never worshiped you, Morrígan, and we were here first.
If
we go to Talamh an Ghlas, everything changes. We don't know what will happen there or how we'll be looked at by those who live there. Ultimately, we're
not
on the same side a'things.”