Pagewalker (7 page)

We followed the stone path up the hill,
through the first two fields and over the lip into the led mine
valley. At the top there was a massive boulder, as children we
called it Egg rock, and used it as a marker. When standing on egg
rock you could see over the whole of Newtownards. You could see
Scrabo tower, the castle like structure that overlooks our wee
town, all the way down the peninsula, following the horizon you
could even see the mountains. Like giant silhouettes emerging from
behind the horizon’s lip. Behind, I could see hidden in the tall
trees, Helen’s tower.

Helen’s tower is the direction we were going.
I always liked the fact that there is a matching tower in France.
It marks where the men from Ulster trained before the battle of the
Somme is the Great War. Such a beautiful building, like a forgotten
monument in the thick forest.

We began down the valley, through the mines
and the old abandoned quarry. Following the path past the old golf
course and up another hill into the forest. There was no clear way
into the woods. It had changed significantly since I was a child.
Before there were open spaces of fallen leaves, a few rocks to hide
behind and trees tall and thin. Like running through pillars it was
easy and enjoyable. Now thick thorn bushes grew between the trees,
creating a wall you could not get around.

There is always one sure way to find a way in
somewhere with my dog!

I threw a stick over the bushes and followed
Tessa as she ran looking for an opening. There it was. A small
hole, no larger than a foot high and wide. Most likely used by
badgers or foxes. I knelt down, the ground was trodden and dry with
flattened leaves, this had definitely been used quite a few times.
I had to lie flat and army crawl my way through. I got caught every
stage of the way. I spent so much of my time loosening my coat and
bag from the thorns, it took me a ten minutes to get through.

I finally emerged and looked around. Like
stepping directly into a memory I felt ten years old again. I was
walking on an unspoiled part of these woods. Somewhere no one came
to any more. I recognised some of the old areas. There were three
rocks that we were convinced was a dolmen and used it as a base. I
followed the stones we had set out like stepping stones over the
stream that still bubbled and flowed. Following them upstream and
uphill we came across the little pond in an opening of the wood.
Sunlight pierced down like pillars of light, in what seemed to be a
perfect circle around the water. We had called it the sacred pond
as children, not to be touched by anyone.

That was until Tessa began to drink from it,
scaring a frog from its stone into the water. She followed it so
intensely until I called her to my side. I knew the hole I had
fallen into was around here somewhere. I sat by the pond and just
stared around me. I hadn’t thought about how I would begin looking
for it. Would I start digging at random spots? Stamping around
until I fell? Or use the dog? Throw sticks until she fell into a
hole. No, that’s far too cruel. I remained seated, feeling
defeated. It was all becoming too much, emotions were banging at
the sealed door in my head, trying to burst through, the support
beams were cracking and the flood of tears would soon be on me. I
slumped back on the stone I sat upon and sunk into a bed of leaves.
Staring up into the sky through the cracks of branches and clouds.
I just watched the cloud formations pass by overhead for what
seemed like an age until I noticed something out of the ordinary. A
little puff of grey smoke. I sat up and followed the little, thin
cloud only metres above my head. Where was it coming from? It smelt
like burning turf. I walked further from the clearing to where the
smoke was getting thicker. Looking up I saw it, bellowing out, like
a chimney from the stump of a tree trunk. Then I remembered. I
could see myself as a child back in that little house. The hollow
tree like a chimney. This was it!

I ran to the tree, knocking the wood and
feeling around for a trap door. The tree was growing out of what
seemed to be a man-made mound. Fresh grass and bluebells grew on
it. I am no horticulturist but I knew that it was the wrong season
for bluebells. There was magic at work here.

“Hello” I called. No answer.

He spoke Irish if I remember, he greeted me
in Irish before. I just couldn’t remember any. I didn’t learn it
properly at school, just picked up some words here and there. That
was it.

“Dia duit?” I called out again, I think it
means Hello. I could be wrong. Sarah knew more than me, quite a lot
more in fact. I wished she was with me!

A small rustle came from beneath my feet and
a bang. The ground under my feet shook, the dirt subsided and the
dead leaves rustled. The banging got louder and more violent. I
felt myself shake and look all around me for where there could be a
door. No door in sight, and still with the banging, from what
seemed below me!

“Hello, Dai duit? Anyone there?”

A muffled reply came from what was definitely
bellow me followed by three hard bangs. I stepped backwards and on
the fourth bang a circular, trap door opened. A cloud of dead
leaves flew in the air, as it did and out came two small ring laden
hands, pulling up a body with them. I noticed the familiar cap and
beard. The little man I had met years ago stood before me, he
seemed much smaller than I remembered but then again I was a third
of the size the last time we had met. He stood up brushing dirt
from his knees then his small round belly. He lifted some brown
dead leaves from inside of his coat and tossed them aside while
fixing himself to look respectable. Well as much as someone could
after climbing out of a hole in the ground. After a moment of
fixing, patting, smoothing and flicking he looked up at me, dossed
his cap and gave a warming tooth filled smile.

“
Ah, I knew it wouldn’t be long before you
showed up, much quicker than I thought though, and yer grasp of the
oul language be slipping son.”
He said laughing in his belly
bouncing, deep gut giggle, light hearted way. “
Yer more of an
Ulster scot arnt ye? Sure that’s what they speak there any
way!”

I was taken aback and confused at first, I
remember I couldn’t get my words out, the ones that did just
sounded like a post-fight boxer with a concussion. After a few
attempts to string coherent words together in a semi-clear sentence
I managed to come out with,

“Sorry? What di you say? How did you know I
was coming?” Three questions at once. I had that strange craned
neck, twisted head, hard of hearing look, that I always got when
struggling to understand.

Tessa meanwhile had slowly crept up behind
me, the long pointing body sniffing the little man nervously and
keeping one eye on me. He gave a slow motion with his hand, clicked
his fingers and all the tension was relieved instantly. Tessa
walked over, licked his face and lay down by his feet on her back,
the playful way she did with me when excited and wanted her belly
rubbed. He obliged and tickled her stomach and under her chin.
Tessa was a loyal dog for sure, she would rarely do this with
anyone else other than Sarah or myself but this little man seemed
to have a way with her. She rolled onto her feet and rose to the
sitting position, starting into each other’s eyes they looked like
they understood each other. A wordless conversation between two old
friends”.

“
She is a truly happy dog, ye ave given er
a good oul home son!”
The little man commented as he continued
to stare into her eyes, deeper than the surface. It seemed as
though he could see through her eyes. After a short while the two
broke eye contact. They stood side to side and turned to me.

“
Come on lad, come inside. There is a fair
bit I got to be tellin ye.”
The little man turned on his heels
and began to climb into the hole.

“
You can use the door this time, dinne
feel like fixin the roof again ye know?”

A little chuckle followed and a wink, as to
say, it’s all just a bit of fun.

I followed him down the wooden steps, not
quite stairs and not quite a ladder, somewhere in between. Like
going between decks on a long ship. Thick timber steps led down a
tiny corridor. I had to crouch most of the way, however I didn’t
feel claustrophobic, just curious. The child in my soul was showing
his face again.

We made our way down the tunnel for longer
than I expected, turning several corners. I kept knocking my head
on support beams and missing the corners until I noticed some light
around each bend. I had lost sight of the little man, Tessa was
running ahead but kept coming back to check on me every time I
lagged behind. Eventually the tunnel was better illuminated. Tree
and fairy lights strung around the corners and led to the door at
the end. A small oval door hung on hinges at the top, best
described as a massive cat flap. The hinges and wood creaked as the
deceptively light wooden door lifted under my touch and I ducked
underneath. The light was great in this familiar room.

In my mind this was a dream so I felt as
though I was walking into the cinema screen and onto a set of a
memory. Everything looked like I had remembered. The surreal
feeling came over me while I looked around and familiarized myself.
The feeling of Deja vu was overwhelming. The fire was still under
the hollow tree chimney, the miniature black iron kettle still hung
over the flames. The bed in the same position and the table still
lay mounted with books. More books had definitely gathered over the
years because the whole surrounding area was piled high with
leather bound pages.

“
Please sit Christopher
”, the little
man gestured to a small chair. One I would most certainly break if
I managed to balance on it. Maybe if I perched myself on one cheek
I could manage it. I declined and sat on the floor instead with my
legs crossed. Tessa walked over and lay beside me with her head
resting on my lap. Her eyes closed immediately after I began to
stroke her soft head. Just running one finger from her forehead,
between her eyes and down her nose.

Looking up I caught his eyes with the little
man again. He smiled as he looked at Tessa sleeping on my lap. I
smiled back and felt at ease for only a moment. The reason I was
here again rang true and the relaxation I had been feeling
instantly snapped back to panic.

“
I know what ye are here fir lad, ano wat
ye are ginne ask me
!” He said before I even opened my mouth.
“
Yer gona ask why ye couldn’t get back tae Northland arnt ye?
Well the truth is son, there’s a difference between wanting to
believe and knowing. The first time you were there ye wanted to be
there so badly, yer heart was there and not here. That’s why you
went!”
He sat back and noticed the flabbergasted and confused
look on my face.

“I, but. How come?” I couldn’t get any more
words out, it just didn’t make sense to me!

“
Right son, OK. Here goes. Let me start
from the beginning. Ye see, some people have this gift. Ireland was
a very different place many moons ago. The land was full of magic.
All the legends and myths we spoke about last time you were here,
are not myths. They are all true. This land was rife with mystery
and wonder. I mean it still is if you look in the right place, but
then it was everywhere. Thing happened that you couldn’t even
imagine. Then the so called Saints came and ruined everything. They
came bearing the sign of their Murdered God. The man on the cross.
The religion they brought carried rules and etiquette and a hatred
for magic. More so a hatred for what could not be explained. As
time passed the word of this God spread. People began to put their
fate into the God’s hands and out of their own. This is when magic
died. Many of us who did not convert or comply were hunted. We had
to go underground. We had to become extinct to stay alive. The land
was no longer safe here so we discovered ways to travel elsewhere.
We wrote our own legends. Writing ourselves into books and tales.
This immortalised us but it meant we could escape when needed. We
stepped into a book and we could leave this land and travel to
another. All we needed was a piece of this world and we could
return when we wanted. Time re-living lives and battles as the
books were read. I choose to come back here but most didn’t. I am
not alone here but there are so few of us left. I had believed the
magic was dead and the power lost from the blood of Irish
storytellers, until you fell into this place. When we spoke I knew
you had the gift. Not just the gift of page walking but you had
something special. You are a teller! The only one I have ever
known!”

He moved closer to me, excited and speaking
faster as he went.

“
Tellers are the people who wrote the
books we walked into. They created worlds. Worlds of love and
romance, worlds of horror and suspense, action, adventure and
mystery. They created so many lives for so many others. I truly
believed they were all gone until I met you Christopher. A creative
heart and a wondering soul! You created Northland. I had been
watching you for years. One day, when you threw the pages out of
your bedroom window I saw you disappear for a short while. Then I
gathered up the story and read Dertrid’s deed. When I read it I
went there. The world of Northland is so alive! I have visited so
many times since. Oh the adventures I have had!”
He sat back
and went into a world of his own head. I could see him reminiscing
and smiling at memories he relived in front of me.

“Um, ok that’s a lot to take in! I have so
many questions! Like, what’s your name for a start? All these years
you have known and followed me and I don’t even know what to call
you! It was you who saved my life that time at the lights when I
was running to the library. You were the one with me while I wrote
and went to school. What is your name?” I said, in a mess of
stutters and on the brink of bursting into tears.