Dark Vision (38 page)

On one side of it stood Gabriel, wearing the same kind of clothes as Carmel, but looking ever so slightly more magnificent in them. On his head was a simple gold ring, and in his hand was the Sword of Lugh, its cold steel reflecting back the dancing light of the Stone. I met his eyes, and immediately wished I hadn’t. I’d never seem him look so serious, or so beautiful.

Next to him was a stranger, almost as tall, blond, and blandly handsome. The kind of boy who’s good at tennis and has girls collapsing at his feet, and dates the prettiest girl in school. He gave me a dazzling grin, and I frowned in return, wondering who he was. He continued to smile, then mimed drinking a cup of coffee … Ireland’s finest. It was Fintan, presumably in his own form for the occasion, instead of poor Larry Hoey’s.

On the other side of the Stone stood the Morrigan, sword drawn and clasped in front of her. She looked at me and nodded, sternly, in acknowledgement. Next to her was Fionnula, teetering on high heels that I knew must be sinking into the soft ground. She gave me a small thumbs-up gesture, and I wondered if she was already drunk. I wouldn’t blame her if she was.

I gulped, suddenly swamped with nerves as they all stared at me as though they were waiting for me to do something extraordinary. I saw Finn, and Connor, and Kevin, all ranked behind Gabriel. I saw Donn, glaring at me with his angular, slitted eyes, the vampires huddled together behind him. I saw Luca, distant and alone, his tall form silhouetted against the moonlight.

The gang’s all here, I thought. And I haven’t got a clue what to do with them. If they left it much longer I was going to start a round of the hokey-cokey just to break the tension. It was spookily quiet, as though even the night owls and foxes and shrews and pterodactyls had all stopped what they were doing to watch.

Just as the silence was starting to feel oppressive, it was shattered by a sonorous, booming voice.

‘The Goddess is in our presence!’ it declared, and I jumped in surprise, looking around to find out where it was coming from. I blinked up at the moon, wondering if there really was a man up there after all, until a figure stepped out from the other side of the Stone. He was small, dressed in deep-autumn-coloured robes, with long white hair flowing around a bearded face. Gandalf the Green.

‘The Goddess is in our presence, and we shall worship her!’ he said, voice carrying and lifting and flowing through the stones, the hills, the earth, the outstretched fingers of naked October trees, and off into the distant sky.

As one, everybody present fell to their knees. Including, to my utter horror, Carmel. I fought the urge to drag her back up, and instead did as she’d advised. Stood tall. Stuck ’em out. And sang a bit of Jimi.

I walked towards the man – he was obviously some kind of priest or shaman, or Celtic bingo caller – and he bowed, deep and low, towards me.

‘Now the true High King must present himself to the Stone of Destiny!’ announced the priest, as everyone swished back up to their feet. Looked like I only got a few seconds of worship, which was fine by me.

Gabriel stepped forward, and without looking at me, reached out and placed both his hands on the Stone.

‘I am Cormac macConaire, the true High King!’ he said, leaning forward to touch the rock with his forehead. I heard a collective intake of breath as everyone watched and waited, then felt my eyes widen as the Stone screamed at him. Literally screamed – a huge, banshee wail that floated over the heads of the crowds like a cloud of sonic smoke.

Gabriel took a step back, and the screech died down to a whimper. Fintan looked decidedly put out, and I was just glad I hadn’t fallen over from shock. Being told in advance that a stone was going to scream was one thing – standing next to it when it did was a completely different matter. And that’s from someone who’s stood next to the speakers at a Slipknot gig.

‘The High King is recognised!’ shouted the priest. ‘Tara acknowledges Cormac macConaire!’

There was a murmur of approval from most of the crowd, then the priest turned to face me. As he did, I saw a shimmer and a shake behind him, a flickering of shadow and light that grew and spread all around us, a wind-blown curtain of gloaming surrounding the circle and everything it contained.

I saw figures twisting and roiling in its mist, like half-formed shapes in a cloudy sky, almost but never quite solid. Horses made of swirling grey air, stamping at the ground and snorting, steam blowing from their wavering nostrils. Their riders clasped hard on to invisible reins, and faces started to take form: Eithne at the head of the pack, hair that I knew was black in my world streaming white in this one, surrounded by dozens, hundreds of others, all jostling against each other. The visions circled us, trapping the entire hill in a kaleidoscope of not-quite-there images.

I twirled around in a dizzy circle, casting my eyes over every half-drawn face I could see, searching for the two I knew would be there. The two I wanted to see. At last, I found them – my parents. My mother, with two small children at her side. My sisters. And sitting tucked in front of my father, hanging on to the horse’s broad neck, a small girl with long red hair. Lucy. The girl-woman who’d died in my place. I still knew nothing about her, and vowed that one day I would – when she wasn’t galloping around on a spirit stallion, perhaps.

The horses and the figures and the smoke that wasn’t smoke whirled and circled around us, like a fog-shrouded fairground carousel. I span with it, round and round as fast as I could, trying to keep my eyes fixed on my mother and father, until I felt dizziness and nausea swamp me, and the trailing tail of white hair slap me in the face.

Firm hands clasped my shoulders, and held me straight. I blinked my eyes a couple of times, and let the head-rush die down. Carmel was right there, in my face, her eyes huge and worried. I nodded once to let her know I was all right, then shook off her grasp.

‘The Otherworld is here with us,’ boomed the priest, ignoring my petty drama and sticking to his script. ‘They are in our midst, as we celebrate the Feast of Samhain. The harvest of the earth is done, and now we look to the Goddess to plant the harvest of souls, and give her rich blessing to the mortal plane!’

I looked at him. Looked at Gabriel, and Fintan, and the Morrigan, and searched for the faces of my parents in the twirling, flickering Otherworld that surrounded us. I found them all, but none of them had answers. None of them told me what to do. I was helpless and stupid, a little girl playing grown-up in the land of the giants. Panic rose up like bile in my throat, and I wanted to scream:
Just tell me what I’m supposed to do!

I felt a sharp nudge in my back, and turned to see Carmel pushing me.

‘Go to the fucking Stone!’ she hissed, shoving me forward again.

The Stone. Yes. She was right. Of course she was. I’d just been too freaked and dizzy to realise.

I walked up to it, and laid my hands on the glimmering rock, feeling it strangely smooth and glassy beneath my fingers. I placed my forehead against it, as I’d seen Gabriel do, and waited for something to happen. I had no idea what, but … something. Anything.

Within seconds, I felt its power course through me with an almighty whoosh. It was like being physically blasted by a supercharged hosepipe, energy rushing through my blood and my nerves and my skin, pulsating and throbbing and pounding its way into my body.

My hands flew back, and my arms lifted towards the night sky, and I shone – brilliant white light exploding over the hill and across the faces of everyone before me.

I was of the Earth, and in the Earth, and for the Earth. I felt all of its tiny cries, from the creaking of the nude willow branches to the echoing heartbeats around me. The wind caressed my face as a friend, and the damp soil beneath my feet welcomed me home.

I was of the Earth, but I was also of the Otherworld, and could feel the warmth of the horses’ breath streaming across my skin, sense the heavy thud of their hooves against ground that didn’t exist. I could feel the taste of the grass they’d grazed and the stream water they’d drunk and the sun dappling against their coats.

I was the Goddess. And all of this was mine.

I walked towards Gabriel and Fintan, and they screwed up their eyes against the light that was shining from inside me. I ignored their discomfort and went closer, placing my hands on either side of Fintan’s face.

He kneleled, submitted, and my vision filled with his needs: his anger at what mortals had done to a world that was once his; his pure belief that what he was doing was right. His image of a new, stronger Otherworld – no longer the Other, but the Only. His desperation and fury and humiliation that he was kneeling there before me, a mere human female.

I pulled my hands away, and he wavered as though he might fall to the ground, before finding the backbone to stand again. I smiled at him, and knew it was a twisted thing – for so long this man had threatened me, tormented me, tried to kill me. I’d been plagued with fears that tonight, at Tara, he would do the same – but now I realised that he was nothing. He was an insect I could crush beneath my feet. At least he was right there, right then.

I paused in front of Gabriel, and saw uncertainty flicker across his face. No … fear. Fear of the power that stood before him, of how I would use it, and what I would see when I pillaged his mind. Even through the mist of my own strength, I had a moment of concern, of regret – then I pushed it aside, and clasped his head between my glowing hands.

He didn’t fall, but I could see the effort it took not to. To stand there, so tall and yet suddenly so weak, and submit to his Goddess.

The images streamed through me: of beauty and passion and fire and need. Of me, as a child and as an adult. Of the world around us, the hill we stood upon, fast-forwarding scenes of the seasons in Tara, the summer blossoms and snow-covered stones and first snowdrops at the foot of the willows. And beneath it all, his need, his duty, his purpose: to keep it all alive. No matter what he wanted or what he needed, that was his role. That was everything he was.

I removed my hands, and stared at him. I knew my face was harsh, cold in the white light, and I also knew that if I chose to, one tiny touch of my fingertip against his forehead would send him sprawling to the ground.

I saw them both, now. Saw them clearly, for what they were and what they wanted to be; for what they wanted me to see and what I could see. But still, despite it all, I was no closer to making the decision that everyone was here to see me make. No closer to choosing between them.

I turned to walk back to the Stone, aware of the silence pressing in on me like closing walls, crushing me with expectation.

I had to choose. And I had to do it now.

The priest stood beside me, his furry face illuminated by the light from my body.

‘Goddess,’ he intoned, ‘will you take the High King as your mate, as has been tradition for all of time, and cast your fertile blessing on this world all who live within it?’

I saw Fintan tense, and the dark shadows of Connor and Kevin moving behind him. I saw Gabriel look to the ground, almost in defeat. I saw the faces of my parents whirl by, riding their ghostly Otherworld horses, twisting in their seats to try and meet my eyes.

And still the words would not come. I was frozen, and still, and lost, trapped by my own indecision. I wanted – so badly – to choose the Otherworld. To leave this place behind, to abandon all its petty concerns, and run to my mother’s arms. To stay there for ever, their Fairy Princess, living for all eternity safe in the warmth of the only love I’d ever truly known. All I had to do was say no …

I opened my mouth, not knowing what was going to come out of it, and never getting the chance to find out.

I was grabbed, suddenly and roughly, from behind, my arms pinned behind my back, twisted so hard I felt bone-jarring pain shoot through them. The light I was casting wavered and danced as the agony took root, and I contorted my head over my shoulder to see who held me.

I met the dark, angled eyes of Donn, Lord of the Dead, and felt his hot breath stream across my cheeks as he spoke.

‘Cormac Mor!’ he shouted, so loud, so close. ‘I hold the Goddess here in my grasp! She is yours to take. Now do your duty, High King – the one you were born to do!’

I wriggled and kicked and slammed my boots down against the arches of his feet, sensing a whirl of movement around me, and hearing the sudden shrieking of horses and the panicked cries of the Witnesses. I looked to the priest, and he shook his head sadly – this wasn’t his battle to fight. There was nothing he could do.

Donn tightened his grip, and I felt one arm pop from its socket as I struggled against him. The pure, searing pain cleared my mind, and instead I attacked him with power – throwing the force of my mind against his. I was Life. He was Death. An eternal struggle, and one I knew I couldn’t win as soon as I met the solid black wall that surrounded him. Walls that I couldn’t break, or climb, or destroy. I was the Goddess, and he was a god – but he had centuries of experience over me. He knew what he was doing, and I was grasping at straws. The day would come, I knew, when I could end this thing between us – but I wasn’t ready yet.

‘Cormac!’ he screamed again, spittle flying from his mouth and landing on my skin. ‘Take the woman now, and our world will be safe once more!’

He pushed me forward, immune to my desperate attempts to break free, and thrust me so close to Gabriel that only inches separated us, shaking me at him like a prize he’d won at the fair.

I looked into Gabriel’s eyes, realising that mine were swimming in tears of pain and frustration and anguish. I’d known it could come to this. I’d always known it, and always dreaded it. Time and again this image had played through my mind, and each time it did I talked myself down from the cliff – no. He wouldn’t. Ever.

Now I stood here, one arm dangling limp and useless, dressed like a parody virgin and being presented to the High King like a mare he needed to service.

It had all been a lie. Fintan had lied. The Morrigan had lied. Even God had lied. That there was no choice – and if there was, then Gabriel would take it away from me, the way he’d tried to do in more subtle ways for the whole of my life.