The Hunter's Moon (7 page)

“It hasn’t died,” she murmured to herself, “only gone underground.”

When the bus arrived in Galway City in the early afternoon, Gwen’s distress returned full-blown. She hurried nervously through unknown streets. There were no familiar faces in the crowds that pressed against her. Eyre Square was thronged with young people lounging on the grass, shoppers taking a break, and workers eating their lunch in the sunshine. Vainly she hoped to spot someone she knew.
Findabhair, where are you?

Her stomach grumbled at the vinegary smells from a fish-and-chip shop, but there was no time to eat. She needed to find the place the leprechaun had mentioned. His instructions were her only guide.
Make your way to the Burren in the County of Clare. There’ll be a banquet tonight at twilight. Carron is the nearest human habitation
.

A bus brought her to the outskirts of Galway where she found a spot to hitchhike. She didn’t like thumbing alone, but she had no choice. She was too unsure of where she was going to take public transportation. County Clare was south of Galway, according to her map, and that was all she knew.

When the sleek silver Mercedes drew up, Gwen looked inside. The car’s interior was immaculate, pale-blue leather with dark-blue carpets.
Céilidh
music echoed from the radio. She studied the driver to assess his character. He was a businessman in a smart suit and tie. His briefcase lay on the floor beside him. Forty-something and slightly paunchy, he wore a gold wedding band on his left hand. His freckled face had a friendly look. The deciding factor was the mop of red hair, brushed sideways in a halfhearted attempt to cover a bald patch.
If you’re betwixt and between, trust the one with red hair
.

He leaned over to open the passenger door.

“You can bung your haversack in the back. There’s plenty of room,” he said, misinterpreting her slowness.

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.”

Biting her lip, she got into the car.

“How far are you going?” he asked, as he eased back into traffic.

“The Burren. A place called Carron. It must be very small, it’s not on my map.”

“I know the spot. Near the University of Galway Field Station. Are you a student? Is that where you’re staying?”

“No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

He gave her a curious glance but continued in his friendly manner.

“I can put you on the right road. My office is near Kilcolgan. You go west from there, through Kinvara on the way to Ballyvaughan, then south to Carron. Anyone will point out the way once you’re in the Burren, though I wouldn’t say your chance of a lift would be great. It’s fairly barren country.”

“I’ll walk if I have to,” she sighed.

He gave her another look, then frowned as if debating whether to speak or not.

“Is everything all right, pet?” he asked at last.

The kindness in his voice broke down her defenses. After all, he had the red hair that had been recommended to her, and she so wanted, needed, to confide in someone. In a rush of words, she told him about the night in Tara and how she had awakened to find her cousin gone. Then she explained that she was following the instructions of an odd little man. Though she avoided mentioning the words “fairy” or “leprechaun,” she could still hear how crazy it sounded. When she was finished, she wondered what she would do if he insisted on taking her to a hospital or police station.

After a long pause, the businessman spoke quietly.

“Brave girls to sleep in a mound, but foolhardy too. There’s no doubt about it, the fairies have taken her.”

Despite all that had happened, Gwen was shocked.

“You believe in fairies?!”

He laughed, a rich warm sound that was pleasant to hear.

“Are they any less likely than angels or saints or Himself for that matter? I thought you looked a bit touched, but when I heard the accent I was sure I was mistaken.”

“You mean this kind of thing happens all the time?!”

“Oh God no. But there was an old man in the village I was reared in who was taken by the fairies when he was young. To play a hurling match for them. He was the best hurler in the parish. He was never quite the same afterwards. Had that look about him—not quite here, not quite there. I remember it, still, after all these years. When I saw you, it put me in mind of him.”

Gwen shuddered. She was not at all happy with the idea of looking “touched.”

He was aware that she was upset. “Have you eaten?” he asked. “We have a company cafeteria. Hot and cold buffet.”

“That would be great,” she said, cheered by the mention of food. “I’m Gwen Woods, by the way.”

“Pleased to meet you, Gwen. Mattie O’Shea at your service.”

They drove up the avenue of a company head office. Glass doors and wide windows gleamed in a façade of new brick. A rainbow of cars filled the parking lot.

“Not again!”

Mattie swore as he spied the sheep grazing on the front lawn. A few had already made their way to the flower beds and were nosing among the roses. He parked the car hurriedly and jumped out to chase the culprits. After shooing them back into a nearby field, he used branches to block the gap in the hedge where they had come in.

By the time he returned to Gwen, he was puffing from his exertions and mopping his face with a handkerchief. His red hair sprouted in all directions though he did his best to tamp it down.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or sympathize.

“
Is glas iad na cnoic i bhfad uainn,
” he said with a grin. “The grass is always greener on the other side of the hill.”

At the main entrance to the building, he held the door open for her in gentlemanly fashion. Waving to the receptionist, he ushered Gwen down the corridor. In the cafeteria, he nodded to various employees having their lunch.

“What a lucky coincidence you picked me up,” Gwen said, as he handed her a meal ticket.

“There’s no such thing as coincidence, pet. It was a complicated set of events that made me late for work today, including a mislaid report and a slow puncture, but I wouldn’t hesitate to say that I was put in the right place at the right time to give you a hand. There are rules and traditions that govern the mingling of the fairy folk with our kind. They’ll help you as much as hinder you. But it’s a shame, now, that we aren’t near my home in Kerry. I could find you a fairy doctor. That’s what they call the local wise man or wise woman who has ‘the cure’ for various ailments and who knows the ways of the Good People. Not too many of them left nowadays, but they still exist. Like the fairies themselves.”

He let out one of his deep laughs.

“I can tell you this, Gwen. Pay attention to any voices you might hear out of the blue. Don’t think yourself mad. If you do cross over into Faerie, take no food or drink or you’ll come under their sway. Most of all, keep your wits about you. With the fey folk, you’ll always get more than you bargained for.”

He glanced at his watch.

“Good Lord, I’ve a sales meeting in three minutes. Eat all around you. The food’s on the house. I’ll ask my secretary to drop you off on the road to Kinvara. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, but here’s my card. Don’t be afraid to ring me if you’re in trouble.”

“Thanks so much. You’ve been really great.”

Overwhelmed by his kindness, Gwen gave him a hug.

Mattie blushed furiously.

He laughed. “You’ll have the whole place talking about me. Good luck to you now.”

He was halfway out the door when he hurried back to her.

“I was just thinking. The fairy folk don’t have as much power as they used to. There’s not much scope for them in a modern country. I’m wondering how they could have taken your cousin. Is she Irish?”

“Yes. Both parents. My mom is Irish too, but not my dad.”

“That explains one thing,” he said pensively, “but not the other.”

“What?” she asked, catching his concern.

“I doubt they could have taken her if she didn’t want to go.”

Gwen caught her breath. Here was a complication she hadn’t considered, perhaps because she didn’t want to. Findabhair may not have been “stolen” in the true sense of the word. And now Gwen realized something else she had kept from herself. Finding Findabhair was not the sole reason for her search. Deep inside was the secret hurt that she, too, had not been spirited away.

Mattie was watching her closely. There was understanding in his voice as he warned her.

“You must take care, my dear. Even as you try to save your cousin, be certain of your motives. Otherwise both of you could be lost forever.”

Gwen mulled over his words as she tucked into a generous portion of shepherd’s pie with mushy marrowfat peas. She was just finishing her dessert of blackcurrant tart and fresh cream when Mattie’s secretary arrived. An older woman with permed hair and glasses, she was casually dressed in slacks and blouse.

“Don’t rush yourself,” she said.

“I’m ready, thanks. I hope this isn’t an inconvenience.”

“Not at’all. I like to get away from my desk.”

In the car, Gwen asked about Mattie’s position in the company.

“He’s the boss. The managing director. Didn’t you know?”

Gwen was surprised.

“He must be very nice to work for.”

“The best there is. Not like the crowd who ran the place before him. We were closing down with all jobs lost, when Mattie got the workers together to buy shares and keep the place going. He was the sales rep before, now he’s the top man. More power to him.”

Gwen was let off at a junction and shown the road to go. As the car drove away, the loneliness settled upon her once more. She had enjoyed having company. Still, a bubble of optimism welled up inside her. All by herself she had traveled west, made a new friend, and scrounged a good meal. Now she was well on her way to catch up with Findabhair. Everything was going to work out fine. In a country where bosses chased sheep off their lawns and talked about fairies as if they lived next door, what could go wrong?

he Burren was a craggy tableland embedded in the green countryside like a stone. Formed by glaciers aeons ago, the great terraces of limestone lay open for miles. Over time they had been scored and rilled by rain, till the fluted patterns of karren rippled like a sea of gray-blue stone. Rising above the lunar landscape were stepped hills, slippery steeps, the rugged defile of Glencolumkille, and the cliffs of Slievecarron. With the coming of spring, the rock garden bloomed. From every crack and crevice they peeped; blue gentian, mountain aven, the red bloody cranesbill, hart’s-tongue, madder, purple helleborine, and a dazzling array of miniature orchids. By summer, the air was bright with butterflies.

Into this bubble of speckled stone, Gwen arrived on foot. As Mattie had predicted, she had no trouble traveling through County Clare, but once inside the Burren she was on her own. The solitude was unnerving. After an hour’s hike, she had yet to meet another soul. On every side were barren fields with nothing but hazel scrub. Some had barbed wire fencing, but most were bound by stone walls interwoven like lace. She knew she was on the right track. Occasional signposts pointed to Carron, but even without them she would have been confident. If ever a place was ideal for fairies, this terrain was it. So wild and forsaken, so strange and beautiful.

Reaching a crossroads, she came to a public house called
Críode na Boirne
, “the heart of the Burren.” Cool and dim inside, it was plainly furnished with wooden tables and benches. The smell of stale smoke hung in the air. Only two people were there, an old man at the counter sipping black stout and the young boy who served behind the bar.

Gwen bought a cola and a packet of peanuts.

“Is this Carron?” she asked the boy.

“It is. Are you looking for the Quirkes’ house?”

“Who? No,” she said uncertainly. “Is there a place around here where someone would hold a banquet?”

The old man coughed into his pint, while the boy fought to keep a straight face.

“You’re some ways from a fancy hotel,” he said. “There’s one in Kinvara. But if you need a place to stop, you could try the Field Station. Through the village and first turn on your right. Students do stay there.”