Читать книгу Prince of Hazel and Oak - John Lenahan - Страница 7

I followed Nieve through the winding corridors of the west wing. Dad was in The Lord’s Chamber, the same one that Cialtie had used and where we had found Dad’s runehand.

‘Prepare yourself,’ Nieve warned, ‘he does not look good.’

My stomach churned as I opened the door. Mom, Fand and an Imp-healer were standing around a bed wearing expressions ranging from puzzlement to grief. I had to cover my mouth to hide the gasp – he looked awful. My father’s skin was ashen grey, paper-like, and his face was dotted with sores. Most of his hair had fallen out and what was left was pure white. My first thought was that he was dead already, that’s how bad he looked. I knelt down next to the bed and held his hand.

‘Dad, Dad, it’s me, Conor.’

I didn’t think he could hear me but then his eyes flickered and opened. An almost Duir smile lit his face. ‘Conor? Conor, are you all right?’ His voice was faint and raspy. ‘Deirdre said you were in trouble.’

‘I’m fine, Dad.’ I didn’t know what to say, his famous dark eyes had lost their shine. I could hardly stand it.

‘Good,’ he said, ‘I was worried about you. So how was your trip home?’

I laughed, one of those painful laughs that are half a chuckle and half crying. ‘It was awful.’

‘What happened when you got back?’

‘The police arrested me for your murder.’

This brought a huge grin to his face. ‘No!’

‘Yes,’ I laughed through tears.

Dad started to laugh too but his laughter was replaced by a spasm of coughs. He had to close his eyes for a half a minute. When he opened them he squeezed my hand and said, ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

‘Me too.’ I held his hand for a while and then said, ‘Thanks, Dad.’

‘For what?’

‘I never realised until I went back, just how much you gave up for me. I don’t know how you stood it.’

‘Well, when it got really bad, I used to go to your room and watch you sleep, that gave me strength.’

I dropped my head on his chest and wept openly. He stroked my hair. ‘I have to rest now,’ he said, ‘we’ll talk later.’

Mom put her hands on my shoulders and guided me out. In the hallway we held onto each other; then she led me into an adjacent room.

A Leprechaun brought in a tray of tea. Mom thanked her and sent her away. As she handed me a cup, I asked, ‘What’s the matter with him?’

‘We’re not sure,’ she said as she poured herself a cup, ‘but we think it is his hand.’

‘His runehand? The one he reattached in the Choosing?’

‘Yes. The Land has a life force that binds us to it; your father gave that all up when he escaped to the Real World. I thought getting his hand back would restore his immortality – I was wrong, it has done just the opposite. Our best guess is that The Land is confused, it sees your father as two things, a young hand that belongs here and an older man that does not. The Land is choosing his hand.’

‘Like a heart transplant patient rejecting a donor organ?’

‘I don’t know what you mean but rejecting is a good word. Oisin’s hand is rejecting the rest of him. It is killing him.’

‘Isn’t there anything you can do?’

‘We have tried everything, to no avail, but there is one desperate measure left to us. Just before you arrived Fand and I decided it is our only hope.’

‘What?’

We are going to use Shadowmagic to encase all of Oisin in tree sap, just as I did with his hand. It will not cure him but it may give us time.’

‘Are you sure it’ll work?’

Mom took a long time before answering. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I am not.’

I stood on the ramparts of the east wall. The stones under my feet were new and whiter than the rest of the castle. This was the wall that was blown out when Cialtie’s golden circle misfired. Lorcan had done a fine job rebuilding it.

I looked out and took a deep breath, savouring the pollution-free smell of summer’s end. At a first glance I thought the forest in front of me was on fire. The oaks were incandescent with the colours of fall. Leaves the size of notepad paper had transformed themselves into reds and yellows and golds that looked as if they were lit from within, like Christmas decorations. I remembered the first time I had seen this vista when it was green, I remembered the strength and joy that it had given me. I felt the strength returning, but the joy was denied to me now.

Below I saw the top of the dolman that Fergal was buried under. ‘Oh Fergal,’ I said to myself, ‘how I could use a friend right now.’

‘I’m sorry, Conor,’ said a voice from behind me – it was Araf. ‘I’m sorry about your father and I’m sorry I was so short with you before. It wasn’t my place to be the first to tell you and I’m not very good at hiding my emotions.’

‘You surprise me, Araf, I didn’t know you had any emotions,’ I chided, trying to lighten the mood.

‘I have them, Conor, although right now I wish I did not.’

I put my arm over his shoulder and together we looked down at Fergal’s grave. ‘I still miss him terribly,’ he said. ‘He was truly my brother – I never had the chance to tell him that.’

‘He knew, my friend, he knew.’

A guard showed up and said my mother wanted to see me in The Lord’s Chamber. Araf led me down to Dad’s room but he didn’t come in. When we got to the door he didn’t say anything, he simply nodded. I think he must have used up all of his allotted words for the day. Mom, Nieve, Fand and the Imp-healer were standing around Dad’s bed; a Shadowfire flickered on a table. I didn’t think it was possible but he looked worse than he did only a couple of hours earlier.

‘We are almost ready,’ Mom said. ‘He wants to speak to you.’

I knelt down next to him; he turned to me and I could see the effort it took. ‘Conor,’ he whispered, ‘you must take the Choosing. The Land needs a Lord of Duir.’

‘You’re the Lord of Duir, Pop.’

‘Promise me.’

‘I promise.’

He straightened his head and took a deep breath. ‘Deirdre,’ he said, trying to raise his voice above a whisper, ‘I’m ready.’

Mom placed a small gold disc on Dad’s tongue. He received it like a Catholic at church, then Mom and Fand each picked up a waxy fist-sized ball of amber sap. They cupped their hands and held it over the Shadowfire; the sap melted leaving them both holding a pool of glowing amber, as if they had scooped water from a stream. Dad’s sheets were removed and I gasped to see that the sores on his face covered his entire body. The only part of him that looked healthy was his runehand. Its heath and vitality only highlighted just how deathly the rest of him looked.

Mom and Fand stood at the foot of the bed incanting in Ogham – the oldest of tongues. As they chanted they let the sap drip onto Dad’s toes. It covered his feet, then his ankles and then his legs, like it had a mind of its own. I watched in horror as the amber travelled up his chest. When it reached his neck he closed his eyes, took one last gasp of breath and was completely engulfed.

Mom carried away the remaining sap and let it drip into a bowl. It left no residue on her hands. Then she slowly examined the Shadowmagic shell. When she rolled Dad onto his side to have a look at his back, it shocked me to see him pop up like a marble statue. Fand covered him with a sheet as Mom placed her hands on both sides of his head. After a few minutes she let him go and wiped her nose on her forearm; she looked drained.

‘Did it work?’ I asked.

‘We will know tomorrow,’ she said.

I wanted to keep watch over Dad all night but Mom wouldn’t let me. Since she missed my rebellious teenage years, I toyed with the idea of making this my first defiant stand against her, but she was right, I was exhausted.

She led me to a room two doors along. ‘This is The Prince’s Chamber,’ she said, ‘it once belonged to your father. It is your room now.’

It was huge. A massive bay window and an equally large four-poster bed were draped in purple fabric. When I get some time, I thought to myself, I’m going to have to do some redecorating. The walls were panelled in hand-carved oak depicting all of the major trees of The Land. I noticed one of the panels was full of chips and holes.

Mom followed my gaze. ‘Oisin told me that is where he used to practise throwing Dahy’s knives. He got in trouble for that.’

‘I promise I won’t throw any knives in here, Mom,’ I said, but I knew I would.

She wrapped her arms around me. ‘I have missed you. I wrote you every day.’

‘Me too. How did you finally get the slates to work?’

‘It was Samhain.’

‘Samhain, I remember that word,’ I said. ‘When Dad wouldn’t let me go out trick-or-treating at Halloween he used to say, “There is no way I am going to let you wander around alone during Samhain.” What does that have to do with the emain slates?’

‘Samhain is when The Land and the Real World are closest. The slate must have started to work simply because it was in range.’

‘Well, I’m glad it did. I’m here now, Mom, and I’m not going anywhere.’

She squeezed me tighter then kissed me on the cheek. ‘Get some rest.’

‘You too, you look like you need it.’

‘I will try,’ she said and left me alone in my new bedroom.

A chambermaid came in and placed a pitcher of water next to a bowl on the dresser. When she turned I recognised her. It was the Leprechaun who helped Dad and me sneak into Cialtie’s room. ‘Aein!’ I said, calling her by name.

I surprised her when I hugged her but then she returned it, her arms only making it to my sides.

‘How is Lord Oisin?’

‘Not good.’

‘If he—’ She stopped and placed her hand over her mouth as if to push back the words.

‘What is it, Aein? You can say anything to me.’

‘If … If Lord Oisin should die …’ she said and made a little gesture like she was warding off evil spirits, ‘will Cialtie come back?’

‘Over my dead body.’

Her worried eyes went steely. ‘Mine too.’ We shared a determined smile. ‘If you need anything, you pull that cord.’

‘Thank you, Aein.’

‘Welcome home, Young Prince.’

My head hit the pillow like I had been hit with Araf’s banta stick. In that twilight moment between wakefulness and sleep I felt the impatience of a dream desperate to begin, like a troupe of actors waiting for the opening curtain. ‘Here we go!’ I mumbled aloud.

I was a bit disappointed with my first dream back. Deep down I had hoped that I would be able to have a conversation with my father, but my dream was a collage of fleeting images. Trees, salmon, horses, knives, castles, bears, mermaids, archers and a myriad of other images zoomed in and out of my sleep. I only had one vision that stayed with me. It was of a young girl I didn’t recognise; she was crying, and an older woman that I somehow knew was her grandmother was comforting her.

I had slept later than I meant to. I dressed quickly and jogged to my father’s room. Fand was sitting at his feet, cross-legged with her hands folded in her lap, Buddha-like. She turned to me when I entered. ‘There is no change, Conor. We will know more after nightfall.’ I leaned over and kissed Dad on the forehead; it was like kissing a cue ball, cold and hard. ‘Hang in there, Pop,’ I whispered.

‘Go get something to eat,’ Fand said, ‘we will find you if there is any change.’

I found the breakfast room all by myself (well, after getting lost for a half an hour). Everywhere I went people pointed at me and whispered to their companions, or, even worse, bowed. No one dared to sit with me at breakfast but that didn’t stop them from staring at me. I’m not sure if it was ’cause I was their prince or ’cause the food was so awesome that I moaned while I ate.

A guard approached as I was finishing. I was surprised to see he was a Banshee. I was glad that Dad had chosen not to banish all of the guards that worked for Cialtie.

‘Prince Conor,’ the guard said, bowing. He was young and I could see he was nervous. I smiled at him. ‘The prisoner is getting – difficult.’

‘Prisoner? What prisoner?’

‘The one who shouts with the strange tongue.’

‘Oh my gods,’ I said, ‘Detective Fallon, I forgot all about him. You’d better take me to him.’