The Summer King (16 page)

At one point they heard the flutter of bird wings. Ian reached for his binoculars. He frowned as his gaze swept the sky.

“An ouzel, maybe,” he muttered.

“Any ravens?” Laurel asked, anxiously.

He swore.

“Three of them. Over Slievemore.”

“Keep an eye on them,” she said, fingering the nail in her pocket.

Eventually the way grew steeper, and they had to stop occasionally to catch their breath. They kept a close watch on Slievemore. It looked different from high up. Instead of the dark face that always glowered over the island, the northern flank was bright with sunshine and plunged joyfully into the sea. Two deep coves bit into its side, with half-moons of sandy shore. But though plenty of seagulls wheeled in the sky, there was no further sign of the ravens.

When they stopped for a rest, Ian offered her the food he had brought: thick slices of bread and cheese, a flask of hot tea, mandarin oranges, and chocolate bars. The long climb had given her an appetite.

“I feel like you’re looking after me,” she said, with a little laugh.

“Maybe you need some looking after.”

She concentrated on her sandwich.

The hike began to take its toll on their patience. Though they had been climbing for over an hour, they had yet to reach the top of the ridge. Every time they thought they were near, another height would appear beyond them. Hill was heaped upon hill.

Then they came upon a strange place. Grotesque shapes loomed around them, sculpted from the bog by rainwater running off the mountain. Some of the hulking figures looked faintly human, others monstrous. The ground was pocked with brown pools. The air was gloomy.

Laurel stood at the edge of a pool and peered into the murky depths.

“Don’t stand too near!” Ian said suddenly.

“What?” she said, moving back with alarm.

“Kelpies, water spirits, like Jenny Greenteeth. They clutch you by the ankles, drag you in and drown you.”

She looked at him aghast, then caught the wicked grin.

“Very funny,” she said. He dodged her slap. “The guidebook again?”

“Nope. Bedtime stories. It’s an Irish tradition to scare your kids to death before they go to sleep.”

They were both laughing as they hurried away. And not long after, they reached the top.

The ground sheered away below them in a breathtaking plummet to the sea. They were so high up, the waves struck the foot of the cliffs with only the faintest of sounds.

They began their trek along the two-mile precipice, in search of the eagle’s eyrie. It was like walking on top of the world. There was a faint track in the grasses, worn by sheep. In some places the cliff plunged down in a straight fall of rock; in others, it sloped gradually, bearded with heather and grass. The two walked in silence. As they scanned the crags for any sign of a nest, they also watched the sky for eagles and ravens. Nothing. Then they discovered the gorge.

As if from some cataclysmic event, a huge part of the rock face had split from the mountain, creating a narrow gorge a few feet wide that dropped to a channel below. The sea surged through the narrow passage, exploding on the rocks. It was a somber and lonely spot. If the Old Eagle of Achill was to be found, this was surely the place.

It took only a glance into the chasm to set Ian arguing once more against a descent. They both ended up shouting, as much from tension as the need to be heard above the wind.

“You have some crazy urge to be a hero!” he yelled. “It’s a bloody death wish!”

“I don’t care what it is! One of us has to do this and I’m the best for the job. I’m the athlete. You’re the one who reads poetry!”

By his furious silence, she knew she had won that round. But then he began to insist that he would go with her.

“You can’t. You’ve got to watch the ropes, and stand guard in case the Fir-Fia-Caw come. Please, I need you to do this. “

Grudgingly, he agreed.

“It’s not as severe as it looks,” she said, fastening her harness. “I’ve got plenty to hold onto.”

Now she took out the rest of the climbing gear and placed it professionally, attaching the ropes to the ground and clipping them to her harness. Lowering one line into the gorge, she handed Ian the other. By the time she had tested the ropes, and he had checked them again, he looked a little less worried.

Laurel took a deep breath to calm herself. She was doing her best to hide her anxiety.

Something clicked in Ian’s features.

“You’d do anything for your sister, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d walk into the fires of hell for her.”

There was nothing he could say to that.

“Good luck, then.”

“Thanks. Watch my back, eh?”

The descent was unnerving. She had to get used to being in the gorge. The wind whistled around her. The waves crashed below. She was caught in the teeth of the rock, miles above the sea. Her breaths came in quick rasps, as much from tension as the icy air. But with each step she took, she found her strength on the mountain. It was exhilarating.

Slowly, cautiously, she lowered herself deep into the crevice. There were plenty of holds to grip on to. Occasionally she came upon a grassy ramp that she could scramble across. Sometimes a smooth slab of stone would stop her short. These she had to rappel, clinging onto the rope till she found purchase beyond.

From time to time Ian shouted to her and she called back to reassure him. If she craned her neck, she could still see him, peering down anxiously. There was no question of her returning yet. Though she had passed many nests tucked into the rock, none were large enough to house an eagle.

She wasn’t sure when she started to feel different. A strange gloom seemed to creep from the shadows and into her mind. The solitude of the mountain began to weigh on her. The lonesome cry of the seabirds made her want to cry too. She thought of Honor and how she had died, falling off a cliff into the sea. The terror she must have felt as …

Stop it
.

Then she caught sight of something that wasn’t visible from the top of the precipice. She gaped in astonishment. Where the sides of the gorge ended to face the open sea there were pillars hewn in the rock, with a broken lintel overhead. The arch was definitely not a natural formation. Amidst the cracks in the stone were carved inscriptions. The writing looked vaguely like the traceries of bird print. A shattered ledge ran toward the archway and continued beyond it. The remains of an old road?

Tugging on the rope, she yelled up to Ian and pointed to the arch; then she realized he couldn’t see it from where he stood. Her words were muffled by the wind. When he shouted down, she couldn’t hear him either. But she had decided what to do. Moving sideways, she climbed onto the road. She had to be careful. There were many gaps in the path. If she lost her footing, the ropes themselves would pull her backward and smash her against the rock.

As Laurel neared the arch, she felt suddenly afraid. A cold wind blew through the opening. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Though she could see nothing but the blue of the sky, she was sure someone or something was on the other side. Watching her.

“Who’s there?” she called out, her voice quavering.

Was it the Old Eagle? Or one of the Fir-Fia-Caw? She reached for the nail in her pocket. Her heart stopped. It wasn’t there! She must have lost it on the climb. And she had left the other charms in her knapsack above! She was defenseless. For a moment she thought of turning back. She tugged on the rope for reassurance, as she couldn’t see Ian. The line felt loose. She was about to call up to him when she changed her mind. Fear wasn’t going to stop her now. This had to be the eagle’s domain.

When Laurel stepped through the arch she was struck by a blast of icy air, and found herself standing on a shelf above the ocean. Her head spun before the infinity of sky and water. She suddenly knew that no one had ever stood here before. Looking upward, she spied the great cleft in the rock overhead, like the mouth of a cave. The eagle’s eyrie!

She had just pulled on the rope to signal to Ian when the ground crumbled beneath her. Worn by time and wind and rain, unaccustomed to holding the weight of a human, the shelf collapsed.

Falling was oneiric and unreal. A blur of wind, cliff, and terror. The rope whined as it raced through her harness. Her arms and legs seemed to float. The world was moving strangely around her. Thoughts moved strangely through her mind. How flimsy life was. The puff of a this-tledown. A planet bobbing in the ocean of the universe. A person bobbing in the air. She was both light and heavy. Dropping like a stone. Flying like a bird. And even as she grasped that her life was ending, she saw Honor falling beside her.

Was the screaming coming from someone else? She felt the protest in every part of her body. No! Unfair! It wasn’t her time! She had a mission!

When the beating of wings came overhead, it seemed at first to belong to the dream of falling. But the talons clutched her with violent force. A curved beak slashed at her ropes, severing them like threads. And now she surged upward in a rush of wind and wings. Up, up, past the rock face. Everything was askew. The sea was rushing away, out from under her, and she was falling upward into the sky. Now the mouth of a cave hurtled toward her, opening wide.

Inside, she was dropped lightly onto a floor of soft moss. Stunned by the nature and speed of her rescue, Laurel could only stare around her speechless. She was in a huge nest. It was woven of branches and lined with grasses, but was also adorned with rich fabrics. A canopy glimmered overhead with the iridescent eyes of peacock feathers. Even as she realized that the eyrie was a royal bower, it wavered in her sight and everything changed. For a fleeting second, she stood in the hall of a shining palace with high windows and balconies overlooking the sea.

Yet the splendor of both nest and hall was dwarfed by the great golden eagle that alighted before her. He was so magnificent she quivered in his presence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror.
He exuded radiance. Before he closed them, his wings spanned as grand and glorious as an archangel’s. When the tawny head inclined toward her, she flinched at the sight of the hooked beak; but it was his eyes that caught her, shadowed with an age and wisdom beyond her comprehension.
Every angel is terrifying.

Instinctively she bowed to him. Then she repeated the words from the guidebook.

It is old thou art, O Bird of Achill,
Tell me the cause of your wanderings,
I possess without denial,
The gift of speaking in the bird language.

He cocked his head sideways and stared at her a while, eyes unblinking. She wondered if he understood her. Wondered also, for a second, if he intended to eat her. Then he spoke.

His voice was musical; birdsong translated into human speech. She strained to listen as the words took shape inside a stream of sound.

“You are not speaking the language of birds. Fortunately I can converse in passable English. I do not suppose you have any Irish?”

“I … sorry … no.”

“Pity. ’Tis a language more suited to my tongue.”

“I intend to learn it,” she added, wishing to please him.

“You are courteous for a wingless one. And you have great courage. Few have dared that descent. Why have you come to my eyrie? Speak and I will hear you.”

She knew that she had been granted an audience with a king. It was up to her to state her case and request a boon.

The wind ruffled the canopy overhead. The sea murmured outside. The westering sun illumined the cave with an orange glow.

Laurel spoke simply, describing her search for the Summer King and the need to light the Midsummer Fire. As was her way, she didn’t mention Honor’s death or her private hope of saving her sister. But she did tell of her disastrous visit to the sea fairies and the attacks by her enemy, the Fir-Fia-Caw.

“I’ve come to ask for your help with my mission,” she finished.

The great eagle regarded her solemnly.

“I am of the Old Ones, the Five Ancients of Ireland, they who came before your kind and Faerie: the Salmon of Assaroe; the Old Woman of Beare; Blackfoot the Elk of Ben Gulban; the White Lady; and myself, Laheen, King of the Birds, Lord over Clan Egli,” he paused, his eyes darkening, “and the Fir-Fia-Caw.”

aurel’s heart stopped when she heard the name of her enemy. She had come for help and fallen into a trap! A stray thought struck her. When she fell, the rope didn’t pull her back against the rock face. That meant no one was holding it. They must have got Ian! Panicked, she looked around her. Miles above the ocean, on a lonely coastline, there could be no escape.