The Hounds of the Morrigan (37 page)

And then the milk was finished and it was time to go. Mawleogs held a piece of resinous wood in the fire for a few moments to make a flare.

He held it aloft.

‘We’d best be off,’ he said.

‘Goodbye, Anastasia, goodbye, Batty. Thanks for everything,’ they said.

‘Not at all, not at all,’ both replied, and then Pidge and Brigit followed Mawleogs across the cave to where it was darkest, turning round to wave silently before they disappeared after him into a dark tunnel.

Then it came forward in Brigit’s mind that she was going to see someone who was dead.

‘I don’t like this a bit, Pidge,’ she said.

‘Don’t worry. There can’t be any harm in it or The Dagda wouldn’t allow it,’ he answered softly.

The passage twisted and went one way for a while, and then it turned and went another way, and then for a long time it didn’t do anything but was just a straight passage. Then it seemed to go uphill for a bit and then downhill and Pidge wondered how far into the earth they were going.

Mawleogs had been very quiet all along.

At last they came to a short flight of steps cut into the ground and they followed him down to the bottom, where they reached a natural archway.

‘This is the place,’ Mawleogs whispered, and led them into a circular cavern.

It was a place of immense size.

The walls were covered with a substance that was white and reflected back the light of the flare in streaks, like shining mother-of-pearl. As they moved in, the streaks altered as the light struck the walls, bright going dark and dark lighting to brightness. There was the loud noise of water and they came to a place where it gushed from the wall and filled a pool that got no bigger. And then they saw it—the statue of an enormous animal; an Irish Elk. It couldn’t be said whether it was wood or stone, bronze or iron; but Pidge knew what it was from his schoolwork. He knew that they were looking at an extinct animal and that bones from such an animal could be seen in the Museum in Dublin. It was a thrilling thing to see.

In front of the statue there was a long table made from stone and the dust of old flowers lay there, where reverence had been done.

‘Flowers were always left from long ago, I only copied what was there before,’ Mawleogs whispered in the smallest whisper possible.

They tilted their heads back and looked upwards to where the statue’s head was and they saw that two gigantic antlers were on the splendid head.

‘They’re the two trees,’ Brigit whispered, remembering Anastasia’s poem.

Without answering, Pidge took a hazel-nut from his pocket, knowing for sure inside himself that it would work. As before he held his hand out flat with the nut lying on his palm. A crack as fine as baby-hair appeared in the nut and it broke open. Lying on the white lining of one half was a minute and perfect silver horn. He picked it out with the nails of his thumb and forefinger and it grew to the size of an ordinary horn. It felt smooth and cold and it seemed to vibrate with the music it contained.

Feeling a bit self-conscious about it, Pidge blew the horn.

The note, clear and sweet, bounded all around the cavern, bouncing off the walls in echoes.

They waited, as the music went all the distance back down the passage and grew faint.

It was such a lovely sound; Pidge couldn’t help doing it again. The far-away echoes made it seem that a second horn blew somewhere.

One crack appeared in the statue.

Slowly, slowly, it moved from the neck all along the body. Smaller cracks appeared running out from it and bits of stuff like hard plaster were dropping to the ground. The barest tremble ran through the neck and shoulders and the smallest of ripples ran down the legs. Piece by piece, the covering fell. A stronger quiver, a powerful vibration, and they heard the animal draw in his breath and then the living animal appeared before them.

Slowly he turned his heavy head and looked down at them; then he raised it up on his powerful neck and opened his jaws and belled.

It was a full-throated cry of pleasure, so potent, so thrilling, that Mawleogs dropped to the ground, overcome.

‘Oh my!’ he whispered, full of a rich, disordering joy.

The Elk moved slowly to the pool and bent his head to drink.

‘Blessed be the water,’ he said, and came back to them. He bent his massive, ornamented head and looked at them with his soft eyes.

‘You brought me to life; hurry that I may help you,’ he said, and then bent his knees and lay down. ‘Climb on me and grip very hard.’

Pidge and Brigit scrambled on the Elk’s back and he slowly and carefully righted himself and stood up. Brigit was perched in front of Pidge and they both gripped the strong, dark hair.

The Elk turned and looked down at little Mawleogs.

‘My thanks for the flowers, good little watchman,’ he said and then he pawed the ground.

‘We’ll fall off!’ Brigit said in a small voice.

‘The broadness of your back,’ Pidge explained weakly.

Mawleogs came to life.

‘If you’ll allow me?’ he said and hastily climbed up after the children. He took a thread from his body and roped the lower parts of their bodies and legs to the Elk’s hide, and he made a small pair of reins which he attached to the lowest branch of the antlers, for Pidge to hold with Brigit in between them.

‘Keep these ropes,’ he whispered breathlessly to Pidge; ‘they might come in handy; and keep a good grip on the hair. You don’t have to hold the reins, only I thought they would look nice. Oh my! I must get down now. Such a thing! That I should be the one to see it! Goodbye, Brigit dear; goodbye, Pidge.’

He slithered down to the ground and retreated across the cavern, picking up his flare on the way from where he had left it sticking between two rocks.

The Elk tapped the ground with a forehoof, lifted his head and belled once again. They could feel the surge of sound swelling through them from the vibrations in his body and then the wall facing them was no longer there. It had gone without a sign or sound of how it went, whether it had slid or swung, no one could say. Now there was ahead of them a wide ramp leading upwards to a circle where stars shone and the Elk was taking them up.

There was just time to call ‘goodbye’ to Mawleogs, who shouted ‘Safe journey,’ and they were at the top. Barely quickening his gait, and going as smoothly as possible so as not to upset them, the Elk gave a wonderful bound, all the more remarkable for being so effortless, and they found themselves sailing over the abyss as if it were no more than a ditch. They had a glimpse of the awful boulder-strewn bottom and they saw the hounds, snuffling and searching the ground, before being shaken to the heels and running in shock on seeing the Elk rise out of the earth and occupy the air so suddenly.

On landing, the Elk picked up his stride right away and they flew faster and faster over the earth, while he sang the song of his life to them. It told of the days spent with his own people as they ranged over the land, of the softness of his mother, of young being born, and the old ones dying. It celebrated the taste of sweet grasses and herbs and praised the mercy of water that washed away the scent of those who were hunted. His song was about freedom and being, and the joy he had in these two things; it praised the sweet night air as they flew along. And then the song was about the coming of the ice and the long slow dyings; of the springing up of thick forests where many died, trapped by their antlers in the meshing branches; of being near to death himself; and of being found by men who pitied him and took him to a secret and holy place, where they covered him with sweet earth and sang him to sleep with magic. He sang of the whiteness of their robes and the beauty of their chanting and he ran thus through the rest of the night, leaving them when light came delicately to the rim of the world.

Again he bowed down and they slid from his back, nerves jumping violently in their legs from the incredible physical power of the galloping they had experienced. They stood on their unbiddable legs beside a small carthouse.

Pidge gathered the silken ropes and held them in loops in his hands.

‘Shelter here until it is fully light,’ the Elk told them and then he was gone in the lingering darkness, with a pattering of hooves. They heard him gather speed and burst into a gallop and they listened until the sound gradually faded and they heard him no more. Shakily, they went inside the carthouse and sat on a pile of hay, smiling gravely at each other while they waited for daylight; for the experience with the Elk was too strong to be spoken of, and they were spellbound.

They waited, slowly winding the ropes into balls, until well after the sun had touched the world’s rim. They waited all through the morning birdsong, until the dawn was truly complete and the darkness was no more.

W
HEN
at last they came out of the little carthouse, they looked about them with very great curiosity. Having travelled such a long distance through the concealing darkness of night, Pidge especially wanted to find out if the Elk had taken them closer to the mountains. But everything far away was still shrouded in morning mist and it was impossible to know one way or the other.

For the moment the carthouse itself took hold of their attention.

They saw that it was unusual in that it had a little spire and a weather-vane on its roof. Such an odd thing must have been built by someone for fun, they said, agreeing with each other.

The weather-vane was of an interesting design—a painted metal man. He stood on one leg with the other sticking out at the back, at a right angle from the knee; and his two arms were stretched out at either side, in a way that might have been graceful if it hadn’t been so exact and stiff. Standing on one leg as he was, and with the two arms sticking out as though for balance, he looked exactly like a skater; but one who was badly held back by his nerves.

He had an exceptionally long nose.

So cunningly was he made that his hat looked to be on the point of lifting off from his head, whistled away by a wind that wasn’t blowing; and his coat-tails and his long, striped scarf appeared to be billowing out behind him, held up by a non-existent gust of air.

For a while they stood admiring him.

By this time the nervous spasms has gone from their legs and like all normal legs they could be taken for granted; and no doubts at all that they could match, in walking, the stretch of the day.

They had only just begun to move off, when they had the great good luck to find an old abandoned garden. Pidge had privately decided that they would just walk at random until the mists cleared and then take a bearing; but now he thought that they might as well have a look in the garden instead, to see if they could find some things to eat for breakfast.

It was growing right beside the carthouse which had itself once been part of one of the garden’s walls. The walls themselves had been much taken down by time and all that they would have to do to get inside was simply to step over a few stones.

At first they could hardly be sure that it
was
a garden because it was so overgrown with weeds and briar. Hundreds of wild flowers, whose names they didn’t know but whose faces were familiar, grew everywhere; and among them was the reassuring sight of dandelions and daisies, the ones in shade still fast asleep. Although he didn’t understand the full meaning of these two flowers, the moment he saw them Pidge knew that it was all right to go inside.

Through the wild confusion of growth ran a network of narrow paths trodden into being by the countless small journeys made by wild animals. In following these they found blackcurrant bushes with fruits as big as cherries; and sweet red gooseberries growing on almost thorn-free bushes and they were not much smaller than golf-balls. After their first natural greed was satisfied, they moved in easy stages through the inviting disorder, still following the tracks drawn on the ground by the animals. Their mouths were continually filled with the thick sweetness of jellied seeds and the air was full of the strong scent of crushed blackcurrant leaves.

With the great abyss safely between the hounds and themselves, Pidge fancied that they could spend the whole of the morning there if they wanted to; but even so, part of him still listened and his common sense told him to keep the advantage that they had gained. But not just yet, he thought blithely.

Wandering on, they found red currants that went pop inside their mouths and released delicious bursts of liquid that only made them want to eat more. And then they came to two trees bearing yellow and purple plums that were cool and silky to the touch, and so soft and luscious that the juice spurted in squandering fountains at the slightest, most delicate tasting.

But soon they had eaten their fill and they followed the last track of all and discovered that it took them right back to the broken wall where they had first come in, right beside the carthouse.

They had almost forgotten about the metal man and were taken by surprise when he spoke to them.

‘Dear sir or madam,’ he said. ‘Business as usual. Inasmuch as, heretofore and notwithstanding.’

Even though there was no wind, as they looked at him he spun.

For want of oiling he creaked rather badly and after just a few moments of spinning he came to a slow, gradual stop.

‘Oh, what a turn I just gave myself! First today,’ he said to no one in particular.

A blackbird landed on a nearby branch and said:

‘I hope you are in good spirits, Needlenose?’

Before replying, the metal man slowly lifted his hat with a tooth-watering screech of his elbow joint.

‘The best, the best! Please excuse brevity of reply. Yours cordially,’ he said cheerfully. He replaced his hat with a clang and said: ‘Ow!’

‘I’ve been waiting for you to wake up—I had a row with my wife this morning,’ the blackbird began.

‘Do you say so?’ Needlenose asked in an interested way.

‘I do. Now to shorten my story—she’s left me. And there I am with three naked, half-starved children with mouths like opened oysters, bawling for food. It can’t be done, Needlenose—not with only one pair of wings and a single beak doing the catering. Find her for me, Needlenose—before my children die.’