The Light-Bearer's Daughter (2 page)

year and a day after the fiery blast, it shuddered into consciousness. Hidden in the undergrowth, barely alive, it could not grasp its name nor even its nature. There was only the memory of blinding light and the searing pain that came in its wake. Then a fall into darkness
.

But now as it woke, it began to move
.

She stepped through the spinney of tangled trees that crept over the back of the small mountain by the sea. The green hem of her gown brushed the damp grass; the earth felt cool underfoot. Stopping to press her ear to the bole of an old hawthorn, she closed her eyes to listen. With a smile, she sang the refrain that coursed through the tree’s veins
.

Tá grian gheal an tsamhraidh ag damhsa ar mo theach.

The summer sun is dancing on the roof of my house
.

She left the spinney and came to a cliff that plunged down to cold waters. Her smile faded. A confusion of memories clouded her thoughts; shadows of another self, another life. She gazed down at the waves that struck the rocks in a fury of white spume. Why had she come here? What had drawn her to this place? Her skin shimmered faintly with a tint of gold. Her hair was wreathed with white blossoms. She stared around her, lost
.

Then she froze
.

It was like a wound in the earth: a gash of red mist like vaporized blood. Writhing through the grass, it trailed over the stony summit and into the mountains beyond
.

She let out a cry
.

The wind caught her cry and cast it through the air like a net, a summons. Out on the sea, a gray seal broke the surface. From overhead came the skirr of bird wing and the screech of gulls. A robin landed on her shoulder. Small animals scurried from their hideaways to form a circle around her—foxes, hares, field mice, badgers. On the slope above, a horned goat and a wild deer emerged from the dark of the mountain
.

“A demon has entered the kingdom. A shadow of the Destroyer.”

Her words were met with noises of dismay and terror. She herself was undone. Trembling, she struggled to keep her voice firm
.

“Be of good courage. I will bear this news to the King. You will not be forsaken.”

Deep in the mountains, the giant stirred. Something had entered the kingdom that did not belong. He tried to rise but couldn’t. All around him was darkness. Were his eyes sealed shut? The smell of earth and stone was suffocating. A great weight lay upon his chest. What enemy had laid him low? What battle was lost on the plain that saw him defeated and entombed? He could hear a song spinning around him, words twisting like cords to bind and restrain. Whose spell enthralled him? He struggled like a wild man, striving to break free, but it was no use. He was blind and powerless. How did this happen? Even as he sought answers in the shadows of his mind, the words pulled him deeper into the darkness, where he drowned in layers of storied memory
.

tanding at the front window of his living room, Gabriel watched his daughter play soccer on the road. Their street was lined with small terraced houses built in the 1930s that faced each other across scrappy bits of lawn. Like the dwellers within, each house was different, painted in various shades of yellow, blue, pink, and brown. Some had low stone walls and others, iron fencing. They were either owned by the town council, as was Gabriel’s, or purchased after years of rental. It wasn’t a prosperous or even a peaceful neighborhood, but Gabriel had been happy enough to rear his daughter in it. Behind the line of red-tiled roofs and brick chimney pots rose the Wicklow Mountains, their green hills patched with hedge and speckled stone.

In scruffy jeans and a none-too-clean T-shirt, Dana was the only girl in the soccer game and the loudest to boot. Taller than most twelve-year-olds, she had shot up suddenly that summer and looked underfed and scrawny. Gabriel winced at the thought that she needed new clothes as it meant an expedition to the charity shops on the main street. He was vaguely aware of the contrast between his daughter and the gaggle of girls who watched on the sidelines. The other girls were dressed in the latest styles, their hair sparkling with clips and bands. His income didn’t allow for fashion and Dana herself had no interest in girlie things. Still, there were days when she came home hurt and angry, and eventually she would tell him the unkind remarks. Girls could be cruel. Far worse than boys who just punched each other.

Dana had taken control of the ball. Chest heaving, dark hair flying, she headed for the goalpost.

A big lad with a face like a clenched fist ran to cut her off.

“Get outta my way!” she yelled.

If he meant to intimidate her, he hadn’t a hope. With the ball spinning between her feet, Dana wove deftly around him and laughed out loud.

Gabriel winced. The boy’s fury was unmistakable. There would be payback.

The goalpost was a crack in the road. If Dana kicked the ball over it, the game was won. Face screwed with resolve, she sped toward it. Scrums and fights broke out on all sides as her teammates blocked the opposition. Gabriel was reminded of June bugs scrambling over each other.

The girls on the sidelines screeched encouragement. Two dogs in the crowd began to bark, a shaggy-haired mongrel and a fractious Jack Russell. “Mutt and Jeff,” as Gabriel liked to call them. They had watched Dana keenly throughout the game and would growl if she appeared in danger. She was champion and provider to all the neighborhood animals, collecting bones from the butchers to distribute among the faithful and feeding any strays. Even the King of Cats, the fiercest warrior tom on the street, acted like a gentleman in her presence. And whenever the inevitable fights broke out, Dana thought nothing of running into the fray, often at considerable risk to herself.

Now the boy she had outsmarted charged again. It was obvious he meant to crash into her. Technically it wasn’t against street rules and it happened regularly—a fall, a sprawl, a head split open. All the players had been stitched up at one point or another. There was no use forbidding the game. They would only play elsewhere.

Gabriel tensed as the boy bore down on Dana’s right side. She was concentrating on the ball and didn’t notice. But the Jack Russell did and suddenly shot from the crowd. Someone grabbed him and hauled him back though he yelped and snapped. The boy was gaining on Dana. Gabriel sucked in his breath, but kept his eyes open. A father had to see what a father had to see. He was used to being afraid for her. She was so competitive it made her reckless, even dangerously so. He suspected she was the one who invented that terrible craze the previous summer—kids dashing in front of cars on a dare. Though she denied ever doing it, his heart still jumped every time a tire screeched. The only control he had in such matters was the threat of grounding. Dana hated being trapped indoors and was too restless to read or watch television. The only time she sat still was when he read to her himself or told her stories.

The moment of truth had arrived. Dana closed in on the goalpost. The big boy closed in on Dana. Without lifting her head, she made a feint in his direction that threw him off guard. And then, before he knew it, her foot shot out to trip him.

With a scream of rage and pain, he hit the ground.

With a yell of triumph, she kicked the ball over the crack.

Dana’s teammates roared their approval and so did the spectators. The two dogs howled. When the Jack Russell was released, he leaped into the throng that surrounded the victor. Gabriel relaxed. His daughter had managed to win without getting hurt. Then he tensed again, for he himself was about to hurt her and he could put it off no longer.

Leaning out the window, he shouted at Dana to come in for lunch.

Flushed with victory, Dana bounded into the backyard that was almost a garden. Wildflowers and tufts of grass sprouted through the broken concrete. The stone walls glared white in the sunshine. Clothes flapped on the washing line. The rickety picnic table in front of the shed was Gabriel’s handiwork, as was the hutch that stood nearby, the former home of Millie the rabbit who was still mourned. Seashells and candles marked her grave under the hawthorn bush. There were no pets in the house at present as the last three hamsters had lived out their pampered lives in “Hamsterdam,” as Gabriel called Dana’s bedroom. A trip to the animal shelter was long overdue, but he had managed to forestall it so far.

Dana’s eyes widened at the sight of the feast laid out on the picnic table. A white sheet stood in for a tablecloth and all her favorite foods were there: slices of pale-green melon, a jar of dill pickles, halves of avocado with lemon and olive oil, egg salad sandwiches cut in quarters, a tub of coleslaw, and a big bowl of raspberries.

“What’s up, Gabe?” she said, delighted. “New job? Big gig? Festival in Europe?”

“A new job, yeah,” he said uneasily. “Did you wash your hands?”

“’Course,” she lied, wiping them on her jeans.

She was too busy wolfing down her food and reaching for more to be aware that he was only picking at his. Nor did she see him fidget nervously. In between mouthfuls, she chattered about the game, slipping in a hint that they needed a new soccer ball. Her face glowed with the health of summer sun and fresh air. Whenever the tangle of raven-black hair fell into her eyes, she pushed it back impatiently. She was a child but not a child, for maturity was slowly dawning in her features: the curve of her cheekbones, the fullness of her mouth, the arch of her eyebrows. She would be a beauty, like her mother.