The Hunter's Moon (24 page)

atie Quirke strapped the last of her luggage onto the motorbike. Her mother and sisters hovered nearby, waiting to see her off. All were agreed that she deserved this holiday, and they kept repeating their assurances that they could run the farm without her. One last time Katie ran through instructions about certain lambs and calves. One last time she clung to her mother, whose own tears had begun to fall.

“Enough of this nonsense, girl,” Mrs. Quirke said gruffly. “You’re well overdue a break. You just forget about us and enjoy yourself, do you hear?”

Katie made an effort to control herself, but she couldn’t help wondering if she would ever see them again. From Gwen’s phone call she knew the nature of the mission, knew that it was dangerous and its outcome uncertain. And yet, though it made this parting painful, wild horses couldn’t have kept her away.

The sky had darkened with the threat of rain. Katie donned her great yellow mack, and eased her helmet over her head. As if girded for battle, she mounted the bike. Waving her last good-byes, she sped down the road and out of the Burren, on the first lap of her journey north.

She was driving through the town of Kilcolgan when she spotted the Mercedes. As the big car overtook her, a shaft of sunlight struck its silver-gray roof with a flash of light. Instinctively Katie raised her hand to salute the driver. More than an hour later, as she left Claremorris, the same car passed her again with a friendly beep. She had already decided to stop for lunch in Sligo, when she spotted the Mercedes parked in front of a hotel. On an impulse, she drew up her bike and went in search of the car’s owner.

The hotel was softly lit and plushy, with a long hallway leading to a spacious lounge. The mahogany tables gleamed with polish, partnered by cushioned stools and chairs. Scenes of the Hunt adorned the walls with huntsmen in red coats, brindled horses and hounds, and the little rust-colored fox running for its life. Lunch was being served from a carvery bar. The smell of roast beef thickened the air. The rattle of cutlery on china countered the noise of piped music.

Katie scanned the crowd. Though she had no idea what the driver looked like, she hoped he would recognize her mack and the helmet under her arm. When a stocky red-haired man in a business suit signaled to her, she hurried to join him.

“This is a wild but educated guess,” she said. “Are you Mattie O’Shea?”

“Katie Quirke, I presume?”

He put out his hand. The two redheads grinned at each other with instant liking.

“I had hoped you would see the car, and ordered us some lunch,” he told her. “Plenty of sandwiches—rounds of beef, ham, and salad—and the soup of the day. Is that all right with you?”

“God bless you, I’m famished! I could eat the leg of a table.”

She pulled off her mack and eyed the bar.

“Will you take a drink?” she asked him.

He hesitated a moment.

“You did lunch …”

“Right,” he agreed. “Pint of Guinness.”

When Katie returned with two pints of black stout, they lifted their glasses together.

“Sláinte.”

“To the high road and beyond.”

“Gwen told me you offered a lift,” Katie said, after she took a long sup. “But I prefer to travel on my own steam. And I wanted time to think. No offense?”

“Not at’all,” said Mattie. “It worked out for the best. I had a few matters to clear up, just in case.” He paused, as a shadow crossed his features, then he steadied himself. “Do you know, when I passed you near Galway, I knew it was you. For a moment, I saw something else. Not a girl on a motorbike, but a giantess on a horse!”

He blushed, as redheads are wont to do, and was about to apologize for talking nonsense.

“I know what you mean,” Katie assured him. “Do you know why I waved? When the sun shone on your car, it suddenly looked like a silver chariot. Strange doings are afoot and we are a part of them.”

They sat in breathless silence, acknowledging the momentous nature of their journey and the great mystery that awaited them.

“Gwen told me you have a wife and baby? It must have been a hard decision for you.”

Mattie sighed heavily. “It was. But I had a long talk with Miriam, and she agrees with what I’m doing. We both come from villages where the old ways haven’t died out altogether. It seems right to go when you are called. What about you?”

“I lied.” Katie looked shamefaced. “Officially I’m on holidays. My family have enough on their plates with my Da ill and the farm to look after. I’m worried myself about what might happen, but that wouldn’t stop me. I feel as if my whole life has been leading to this. I even managed to quit smoking at last, to purify myself in a way. Does that sound daft?”

“Not to me,” said Mattie. His middle-aged features were suddenly youthful as the imaginative boy inside him crowed with delight.

When they left the hotel, the two parted as friends.

“Slán go fóill!”

“Safe journey till we meet again on Inch!”

When the sleek silver car pulled up outside Granny’s cottage, Gwen ran to greet Mattie. The others were a little surprised by his professional appearance, but it wasn’t long before he was ensconced in the kitchen, talking and laughing with the rest of them.

It was a good while later, when they were finishing supper, that Katie arrived. Her motorcycle belched a cloud of black smoke as it came to a halt with a sputter. Again Gwen ran out to meet her friend. This reunion was louder, as they hugged with shouts of glee.

“I was in a fit I wouldn’t make it!” Katie cried. “Bloody potholes! The exhaust is broken and maybe more. But even if the blasted thing burst asunder I would have come—on foot, if I had to!”

Helmet under her arm, she marched into the house where she greeted Mattie like a long-lost brother. Then she shook hands with Granny, Dara, and Findabhair, pumping their arms with a firm grip. All were impressed by her boundless energy.

“Are you hungry, my dear?” the old woman asked. “I’ve kept your dinner in the oven.”

“God bless you!”

The others dished out their dessert of stewed rhubarb with custard, while Katie started on her plate of corned beef with cabbage and floury potatoes. The talk around the table flowed freely, punctuated with laughter. It was as if there were no strangers present. As the personalities blended together, each was overcome by the sense they had all met before. In other times and other places, this group had gathered.
As it was, so would it be, now and always
.

“Are we all here?” Mattie asked, looking around. “I have a feeling that someone is missing. As if I’m holding a meeting and my top salesman is absent.”

“You too?” Katie exclaimed. “I was thinking, myself, the count was wrong.” She started to laugh. “A head short of the herd.”

Pleased that the circle was bonding so well, Gwen knew the time had come. She cleared her throat.

“There was something I left out in the phone calls. As you’ve guessed yourselves, there is another with us. I thought it might be a bit too much to give you the whole story in one go.”

Katie caught her breath with a thrill of premonition. She knew Gwen was about to say something wonderful.

“The King of the Fairies is in this with us.”

Katie released her breath in a whistle. Mattie looked shaken.

“That’s it!” cried Katie. “I’ll die happy.”

“Let’s hope we won’t have to,” Findabhair warned.

Mattie could barely contain his excitement. His boyhood wish was about to be fulfilled.

“When will he join us?”

“He has asked us to meet him tonight at Inch Castle,” said Gwen.

“It’s an empty ruin,” Dara explained, “but he’s uncomfortable in houses.”

“A midnight court?” Katie asked, overjoyed.

“A Council of War,” was the sobering reply.

hortly before midnight they set out for Inch Castle in Mattie’s car. Granny sat in the front passenger seat, while the four young people climbed into the back.

“You’ll have to sit on my lap,” Dara said, pulling Gwen on top of him.

“There’s plenty of room,” she protested mildly.

“No there isn’t.”

He held her firmly and nuzzled her neck.

“I’m being
curcudgellach
,” he said.

“What?”

“It’s an old Donegal word for ‘affectionate.’”

She laughed. “I like it.”

Findabhair rolled her eyes at Katie, who was already grinning.

“Everyone comfortable back there?” Mattie asked.

“Some more than others,” was Findabhair’s response.

At Granny’s direction, Mattie drove to the far side of the island. Leaving the main road, he turned up a narrow lane. It took them through a farmyard where they woke the dogs sleeping in the barn. By the time the farmer had opened his window to investigate, the silver car had passed on.

Eventually the lane stopped at a cattle gate that led into a broad field.

“End of the road,” Mattie announced. “From here we walk.”

They had no difficulty crossing the meadow. Cropped short by sheep, the grass was a trim lawn that shone in the moonlight. The ground rolled downward to a rocky shore that met the restless waters of Lough Swilly. And there on the rocks, like a great broken tooth, jutted the ruin of Inch Castle.

It had been abandoned for centuries. Empty windows stared blindly over field and lough. The shattered walls were clotted with ivy. A cold mist snaked through the rubble of stones.

As the group made their way toward the castle, Dara told the most notorious tale of its history.

“In the great days of O’Doherty rule, Inch was the richest territory in Inishowen. In the fifteenth century, two cousins called Donnell and Rory fought for its sovereignty. One imprisoned the other in the castle and set it ablaze. The victim, Donnell, broke free somehow and came out on the battlements. Rory was camped below in this very field. Maddened with rage, Donnell tore a great stone from the ramparts and hurled it down on top of his cousin. Needless to say, Donnell claimed the kingship.”

“God, what a story,” said Katie. “Those ancient lads were pure wild!”

She had no sooner spoken than the air resounded with the clash of metal. Inch Castle began to waver. Then all of them saw the scene. Flames shot out from the windows, burning the sky with a bloodred glow. Men thronged the field below, weapons gray and glinting. A figure high on the walls, furious and roaring, lifted a huge boulder over his head.