The Summer King (2 page)

t was a cold wind that blew from the left hand of the moon. A cold wind that woke the one who slept on the mountain. Ancient eyes looked out at the still stars and the slumbering sea. With a slow spread of wings, the great bird rose from his eyrie and flew over the water. His shadow sailed the dark-blue waves as his eyes searched the horizon for signs of the harbinger.

She came on a white horse that stepped upon the moon’s trail crossing the water. As above, so below. She was pale and beautiful and luminous as the stars.

Over the distance of sea and sky, time and tide, he called to her.

“I sing of the ruined nest on Eagle Mountain.”

Her hair flowed around her like quicksilver. Her voice was melodious.

“The Midsummer Fire must burn in the West.”

His anger was swift and furious. As the golden wings beat the air, his cries shattered the night. When at last he grew calm, a sigh issued from his throat.

“Would you free the king?”

She had already turned the head of her steed. She was already disappearing over the rim of the sea. Her voice lingered on the wind that stirred the waters.

“Light may lie hidden inside a dark thing.”

She woke with a start, and the images of the dream splintered around her. For one dizzying second she was utterly lost. Where was she?
Who
was she? The answer seemed impossible: a fragile creature swallowed by a giant bird flying over the ocean.

Then Laurel Blackburn remembered.

The low drone of the airplane was almost a purr. The lights had been dimmed in the cabin to help the passengers sleep. Rain spattered against the small window on her left. It was night outside. Far below, the dark waves of the Atlantic heaved in slow motion. The yellow speck of a lone ship traversed the vast waters.

Not fully awake, Laurel turned without thinking to speak with her twin. She recoiled instantly. A stranger sat in the seat beside her. She closed her eyes as the pain knifed through her. Her thoughts went back to the flight the two of them had taken the previous year. She could almost catch the scent of lilac in the air, her sister’s favorite perfume.

There sat Honor beside her, scribbling in her journal, glass bangles clinking, all excitement and chat. She had been more than happy to give Laurel the window seat, as flying made her nervous. In some ways each twin mirrored the other, with fair hair, hazel-green eyes, and finely honed features, but it wasn’t difficult to tell them apart. Honor was the free spirit in her long flowing skirt, embroidered top, and seashell belt. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders and she had four piercings in each ear to hold all the silver stars and moons. She had a shy and wistful smile, and her voice was low and softspoken. Laurel was the stronger personality, forthright and outgoing. She dressed in a simpler though more stylish fashion, usually designer label jeans with a cotton shirt and jacket. Her hair was also long, but she preferred to wear it up.

“We could go hill-walking in the Wicklow Mountains,” Honor suggested, biting the end of her pen. “That would suit both of us. You’d get lots of exercise and I could go exploring.”

“Exploring?”

Laurel raised an eyebrow at the euphemism for her sister’s real wish.

“Don’t start,” her twin warned. “I don’t make fun of your obsessions.”

“Sports and fitness are not obsessions.”

“Hmm.”

Their differences were obvious even as babies. When Honor didn’t get what she wanted, she burst into tears. Laurel would open her mouth and yell. Before they reached school-age, Honor had pestered her parents to teach her how to read and was soon begging for a library card. Laurel had no interest in books. She was always outdoors, on Rollerblades or bicycle in good weather, and ice-skates or toboggan as soon as the snow arrived. She would do her best to drag her twin with her.

Come out and play! I’ve made a snow fort! You can read later.

Let’s go! The pool’s only open for three more hours. Finish your book when we get home!

No one was surprised that Honor’s grades were high from the start while Laurel barely passed. The only things that Laurel liked about primary school were recess and Phys Ed. High school proved more of the same, but along with being captain of the girl’s basketball team, Laurel discovered the world of boys. Honor, on the other hand, retreated into books and study and soon gained a reputation for being a loner. Her sister did what she could to encourage a social life.

Jason’s friend Eddie is really nice. Kind of a nerd like you, but seriously cute when he takes off his glasses. Hang out with us. A movie, a pizza, that’s all I ask. Please please please.

I’ll go on one condition: you study with me every night.

You can’t mean it!

Half an hour, Monday to Thursday.

Oh all right, if it’ll keep you and the ’rents happy.

By graduation, Honor was at the top of her class, and Laurel had scraped a solid pass thanks to her twin’s tutoring. As a reward, their parents gave them a summer vacation in Ireland visiting their grandparents. Neither had been there since they were four years old when their father brought them over to meet his family. At seventeen, both were thrilled to set off on their own.

Laurel stared bleakly out the airplane window. She was now eighteen. It was almost a year and a day since she and Honor had made that trip.

If only they hadn’t gone.

She leaned forward to rummage in the handbag tucked under the seat in front of her. The snacks and soda her mother had packed were still unopened. She pulled out a diary made of handcrafted paper. Honor’s journal. Her twin loved to write.

I’m words, you’re action,
she used to say.
Two halves of a whole.

Laurel turned the pages, smiling at the forest of exclamation marks, brackets, smiley faces, and hearts. There were magazine cut-outs from
The Lord of the Rings
movies and photos of the two of them horsing around. The writing scrawled across the pages in feathery strokes. Some entries were short and breathless, others detailed and even illustrated. Only a few were dated. Honor had a rich fantasy life. She loved myth and legend, liked to chart her dreams, and was adept at creating imaginary worlds. It was all very alien to the pragmatic Laurel.

Give me the facts, ma’am, just the facts.

Of course they had fights. What sisters didn’t? And especially two with such contrary natures. But only a twin can know how close a twin can be.

Laurel turned on the overhead light. The white pages of the journal shone dimly.

That dream again. It’s so beautiful. The shining lady on a horse and the huge golden eagle. I always wake up with a kind of thrill. It’s like a premonition—no, a promise!—that something wonderful is going to happen. But it also makes me feel sad and restless and sort of worried, as if the wonderful thing could be awful, too. Weird.

The entries made in Ireland were the ones that concerned Laurel the most. Scattered and disjointed, they meandered through the early days of that doomed vacation.

“Up the airy mountain and down the rushy glen
We daren’t go a-hunting for fear of little men.”

Hah! I’m not afraid of little men. In fact, I am a-hunting one! I’m sure I spotted him scrambling up the side of the cliff as if he was strolling on the sidewalk!!! I knew Bray Head would be a good place to start. Under hill and under mountain, isn’t that the saying?

You have to keep a sharp lookout for them, that’s the trick. They move so fast, at the corner of your eye, and they hide all the time. You have to keep looking sideways in a sort of lazy, casual, I-don’t-care-if-I-see-you-or-not kind of a way. That’s when you spot them.

He says he doesn’t climb up cliffs and that I have an overactive imagination. I don’t think so, mister!!!

I’m getting lots of exercise climbing Bray Head. Is it a
small mountain or a big hill??? Didn’t huff and puff half as much today as yesterday. (I’ll be as fit as El before she knows it, hah!) I love going up there. There are different paths that lead to the top, but I’ve already picked my favorite. When the sun shines through the ivy and the leaves of the bushes, it’s like going through a green tunnel. There’s a tree blasted by lightning that looks like an old witch pointing at the sky. When you stop to look back, the Irish Sea stands up behind you like a blue wall.

Today I discovered what’s been biting my legs—not bugs, but plants!!! Nettles!!! They look so innocent, like wild mint or something, but they sting like a swarm of bees. (I’m never wearing shorts up there again.) The roly-poly man pointed them out, and he also showed me this other weed that grows close by which cures the stings. The dock leaf. You scrunch it up and rub the green juice onto your leg where the nettle scratched. Works great. I said it was cool that the good and bad plants grew together. He said something strange that keeps ringing in my head: “A bright thing can nurse a dark heart, even as light may lie hidden inside a dark creature.” So what’s that supposed to mean and what’s it got to do with nettles?!

When she first came upon these notes, Laurel was sure they belonged to her sister’s fantasies.

The doorway to his house could be anywhere. I’m determined to find it!!! He’s so sneaky though. He always appears behind me, no matter how much I watch out for
him. He’s not exactly a nice little guy. Sometimes he smells like he doesn’t wash too often. And he’s always drinking out of the bottle tucked into his belt. I’m pretty sure he was drunk today. His face was redder than usual and he kept hiccuping. And what’s with all the big words, most of them used wrongly I might add? I think he’s trying to impress me, which is kind of creepy. And that funny thing he does with his eyes. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I can throw him. Then every once in a while he says something really profound in a deep voice and he looks like something totally different, something very old and scary.

Dispersed among these entries were passages about Laurel and their grandparents.

El came climbing with me today. I’m so glad. We’ve done hardly anything together since we got here, what with me going off on my own and her hanging around with Ian. What’s that about, eh? Hardly her type. Angry young man on a motorcycle. You wouldn’t catch that boy in a team sport. Gotta admit he’s hot though. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. Anyway, I think she was feeling guilty. Me too. We took a picnic with us, up Bray Head, ham sambos, donuts, and Cokes.

There was a gang of hang gliders jumping off the cliffs! It was so amazing to watch. Irish guys are not shy. They just came right over and started talking to us, asking our names and where were we from and were we twins. (If I had a dollar for every time, I mean what do people think we are—clones???)

When they heard our accents, they started calling us “Yanks”—everyone calls us that here!—and tried to talk us into joining their club. It only takes a week of lessons and omigod you’re up in the air! No way. Not in a million years. I’m not afraid of flying, boys, only crashing and dying! El’s thinking about it, of course. I could see her doing it. No sign of the roly-poly man the whole time we were up there. I didn’t expect him to show. I told him El’s not a believer when he asked me about her.