Free The Summer King by O.R. Melling

was evident that she didn’t understand her own words.
    “A bright thing may lie hidden inside the dark.”
    Laurel shook her head, dazed. The phrase sounded vaguely familiar. Given her mission, some of the reading made sense, while other parts hinted of possibilities to come. She felt overwhelmed by the weight of mystery.
    Sandy stood up and made a general announcement.
    “Thar be great doin’s here, folks. We mun aid th’ queen. We mun bring ’er to ’er destination. We mun bring ’er to ’er destiny.”
    Then she resumed her place at the wheel.
    The bus moved swiftly through the dark landscape, over long winding roads dimly lit by the moon. When they crossed the Michael Davitt Bridge, they left the Irish mainland behind and arrived on Achill.
    Even in the dark, Laurel could see this was different country from the Ireland she knew. Here was a place on the edge of the world. A great craggy island dropped into the ocean. Except for a few sheltered areas, the land was treeless, its vegetation stunted by harsh winds and salt air. Small white houses huddled on the hillsides like gulls come to land. The smell of turf smoke and wild thyme drifted through the windows. They were now in sight of the Atlantic, glimmering in the night. On their left rose the Cliffs of Minaun. On their right brooded Slievemore, the Great Mountain.
    Laurel joined Sandy at the front of the bus to give her directions. She kept watch for the boreen that led to her grandparents’ seaside cottage. When they passed the village of Keel, she knew they were near.
    “There it is, just ahead!”
    Sandy drew up the bus near the verge. The air brakes hissed. Two stone pillars marked the little road that ran down to the dunes bordering the seashore.
    “We canna go dahn thar,” she said. “We’d ne’er get aht agin. Hahsiver, we’ll bide an’ watch whar ye go till we see th’ lights go on in yer hahs.”
    “How can I thank you?” Laurel said shyly, as everyone crowded around to say their good-byes.
    Fionn kissed her hand in a courtly manner.
    “Think of us when you enter the Kingdom.”
    The moment she stepped into the cool night air, Laurel felt the loneliness settle over her. The hippie bus had been warm and homey. Trudging down the lane, with her knapsack on her back, she felt the shadows press against her. Fields of marram grass spread out on either side. Above glittered an immensity of stars undimmed by the spill of urban light. All around whispered the sound of the sea.
    The lane ended at her grandparents’ cottage. Long and low, it stood pale in the moonlight, its curtains drawn like lidded eyes. The roof was thatched and there was a square front porch. A path lined with white pebbles led to the door where two stone vases stood guard. As she reached behind the left-hand vase to get the key, she wished that her grandparents were inside to greet her. Her Granda would be filling the kettle for tea as Nannaflor took fresh scones from the oven.
    No key.
    Had she got the instructions wrong? A search behind the vase on the right was also proving fruitless, when she heard the bus start up at the top of the road. She was surprised they were leaving before she got in the house. Then she saw the light spilling out the window. Her heart stopped. An intruder! The raven-man? Before she could move, the porch door jerked open and there he stood.
    Laurel could only gape.
    “I guess you’d better come in,” said Ian.

 
    hat are you doing here?!”
    Laurel followed him into the cottage and saw immediately that he was camping out in secret. The place was cold and damp. No fires had been lit, either in the fireplace or the solid-fuel stove that fed the central heating. He had just finished his meal. A teapot stood on the table beside a loaf of bread, cheese, and a jar of olives. There was also a book and a flashlight.
    Ian didn’t answer her question. He cleared away his dishes and began to wash them at the sink, his back toward her. It was obvious he was